


From There To Here

by MSquared79



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (even more than we think), (make unlikely friends), (yes I am going down with this ship), Aunt/Nephew Incest, Cersei Free Jaime, Dragons, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-season 7, Prophecies, R plus L equals J, direwolves, rekindled feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-02 04:13:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 74,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13310184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MSquared79/pseuds/MSquared79
Summary: A wedding in a godswood, and how they all got there.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, my ideas for Game of Thrones, post-The Dragon and the Wolf. One of a hundred, I'm sure, but be kind. Hells, this is the third version I've put on a computer screen. I began writing this one in the wake of a tragedy and even my doctor approved of writing as a way to cope. I needed fluffiness, so here it is.
> 
> So, standard disclaimers still apply, as does this: I'm still unsure of the distances involved with travel in Westeros, so be kind (here and especially in my other story, Fires of War Burn Hot and Cold). Hope you enjoy!

Standing before the stone effigy, twirling the symbol of remembrance in his hand, Jon Snow finally understood. Here, in the crypts of Winterfell, sat the tombs of men. They were the Wardens of the North and the Kings of Winter. All men, all the heads of House Stark. An honor that went back centuries. Many of their wives, their ladies, rested with them, but none were carved in stone. Yet, amongst these men, these lords and kings, there was the statue of one woman. She had a gentle face, and a hand out, in which candles were often placed. Once or twice, a feather lay there. But, still, she was the only female there. Because she was the only Queen.

That was why Lord Eddard Stark had buried his sister here, had her statue standing with her male ancestors. It was fitting that a Queen of the Seven Kingdoms laid to rest with other kings. The last Queen of House Targaryen, or so it must have seemed to her brother at the time. Lyanna of House Stark and Targaryen, wife of the Last Dragon, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. And, for a brief time between the death of the Mad King and her own, a queen. 

Mother of Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen, Jon Stark, Jon Snow. 

As a child, Jon would hide out here often, away from the stern visage of Lady Stark. He’d hide amongst the graves and cry, wishing he had a mother’s love to soothe his tears. Most of the time, he would sit against the grave of this one woman, for some reason. It hadn’t been until he had returned to Winterfell, from the South, that he knew what drew him to her. 

It was the grave of his mother, the woman he had birthed him and handed him to her brother, an honorable man who promised to protect the newborn babe, no matter what. The child was not merely his sister’s son, orphaned almost immediately, but was a prince, a king in truth, born amidst bloodshed that sprung from his parent’s love, a love that had torn apart a kingdom.

Sometimes, he hated that fact about his parents. For they had a love that was pure, despite what the of most the Seven Kingdoms believed. They pledged themselves to each other before a heart tree, in the presence of the High Septon. Sadly, what had followed nearly destroyed a continent, brought one great house to the brink of extinction and eventually led to the collapse of so many others. 

Jon didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to just remember what Bran had shown him, his parent’s wedding day. For when he saw that, the gods had smiled down on him and allowed him a moment with his mother and father. They had embraced him, awe in their faces. He had cried on their shoulders, not wanting to leave the pause in time. But he had to go on. He had a destiny ahead of him, one of the coming winter, fire and blood and a dynasty to continue.

It would be continued today. He liked to think his parents would approve, even as it felt awkward to the way he had been raised. But all the signs were converging, just as Rhaegar Targaryen had believed.

“I hope you would be proud of me, mother. I wish...I wish you could be here.” He spoke the words as his eyes filled with tears. 

“Thought I would find you down here,” a voice called out to him.

Jon had to smile. In the time he had learned the truth about himself, he had spent a lot of time down here, either in front of Lyanna’s tomb or his uncle’s. For his anger had been fierce those first days, the dragon showing its fire. He had directed it at both of them, but Ned most of all. Ned Stark was who Jon had always wanted to be. Honorable beyond reproach. No ability to lie, deceive. And yet... But it had cooled, as he had been calmed by the balm of his family, his advisors...and his love. Most especially, the young woman who joined him.

Arya Stark stood next to him, peering up at her aunt’s effigy. They stood there, in silence for a few minutes more. Then Arya turned to him. “The final preparations a being put into place,” she told him.

“Thank you for doing all this. We owe you and Sansa so much,” Jon replied, his eyes not leaving his mother. 

“It’s not the grand event one would expect, but winter has come.” Arya looked to him, more like the little sister he had left behind, the one who did not like thought of losing her brother to anything. A sad smile broke across her face. “I still cannot believe it all.”

“Nor can I,” Jon agreed. 

“You need to get ready,” she told him. “And stop brooding. Doesn’t sit well on a bridegroom.” With that, she turned and left him alone once more. She was right, of course. She was often right about a lot.

Jon pressed the winter rose to his lips, giving it a small kiss, then placed it in the palm of his mother’s hand. “I wish you could be here,” he repeated, before leaving to follow his sister’s wake.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“What it is?” came the call from the solar. With a great sigh, Tyrion Lannister opened the door, finding Sansa Stark as he figured he would, deep in parchments and ledgers. She looked to him, a tired expression on her face. “My Lord.”

“My Lady. I was just coming to see to you,” he said, sitting in a chair next to her desk. “See how you were holding up.”

She offered him a smile, a small but true one. “I am fine, and happy that it will cleanse a holy place of awful memories. It’s one of the reason I jumped at the opportunity.”

“Well, you are the Lady of Winterfell, the head of your house and thus it is your place. I believe the traditions dictate as such,” Tyrion replied. “Being anointed in the Seven, I have little understanding of the Old Gods. And being a Lannister, I have little care for the New.”

Again, she graced him with a smile, amused by his jape. “And yet, we were married before the Seven,” she reminded him.

“You really think my nephew or my father would have allowed anything else?” Even if the whole affair had been awkward and uncomfortable, it still brought a few warm memories to his mind. Most especially, the one of threatening to cut off Joffrey’s cock. “You know, the more I have read about the Old Gods, I think I prefer their way of thinking. Their lack of rules, structureless worship…”

“Because they say little about the vices of drink and whores?” That was quite a good one from her, and very true. But she continued before he could answer properly. “Have you thought, if you should ever remarry, you might prefer it the Northern way, my Lord?”

He raised an eyebrow to that, uncertain of where it could go. It was true that since the arrival of Queen Daenerys’ party more than a moon ago, their relationship had gone from the most bitter Winter’s cold to something akin to early fall at Casterly Rock. Because of their positions, they had found themselves working with each other, sorting through the mess that the last thirty years had left, as well as preparing for the future, whatever it may be. Each had been cautious of each other, unsure of where they stood since they had last been together. But their interactions had been better than any they had during their marriage. Maybe it was the change in scenery, maybe it was what they had experienced in those years. But he found himself appreciating the times they shared together.

And yes, he had, one occasion or another, considered a godswood for the setting of another ceremony. But that was a more delicate negotiation. “It has passed through my mind, once or twice. But I think it best we put off such ideas for the time being. There is too much ahead of us to survive.”

Sansa nodded her head in agreement. She sat up in her chair, pouring a goblet of wine for herself and Tyrion. He raised it in thanks to her along with her. “It is still amazing to me, all that has happened and so soon.”

“It still amazes me that Ned Stark was such a bold liar,” Tyrion added. He saw the face that Sansa threw him, but shrugged his shoulders. “I mean it as a compliment, dear lady, truly. No one had the slightest inkling that Jon was not his bastard son, but Rhaegar and Lyanna’s trueborn! Not the cunning minds in my family, not my drunkard of a good-brother. Baelish, Arryn, Pycelle. And we really should shuck Varys of his title as Master of Whispers. His little birds obviously couldn’t fly this far north.”

“And thank the gods, Old and New, that no one found out,” Sansa shot back, rather crossly.

“Point taken. But it would have made things so much easier.” He tilted his head to the ceiling, savoring the wine. “And to think, I laughed at that prophecy when I read it.”

They remained quiet for a time. Then, Sansa broke the silence. “It is nearly time, my lord. We have our own Houses to get in order before we go on.”

“Yes, yes. I must see to the Queen,” Tyrion said. He made his way to the door, before asking one final question. “And you are certain, the little she-bear has made her peace with her kin? Enough to accept him back into her House and allow him this honor?”

“I spoke with her myself. She has come to a state of forgiveness and I personally witnessed her welcome him back with open arms,” Sansa informed him. “She even gave him a smile.”

“Ha! High praise indeed from a Mormont. Having traveled with one I know how quick they are to glower,” he joked. “Until this evening, my lady.”

Sansa acknowledged him with another smile. “Until this evening, my lord.”  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Daenerys sat before the looking glass, trying to catch her breath, her hand resting on her stomach. Behind her, Missandei fiddled with her hair, while Gilly shook out the black and red cloak. “This is a maiden cloak, right?” the Wilding woman asked.

“Yes, it is,” Daenerys said.

“But you’re not a maiden, so how can you wear it?” Gilly sound very confused, still new to the customs south of the Wall.

The Queen stopped at that, unsure herself of how to answer. At last, she said, “In all honesty, I do not know. But, I guess you can just think of it as a tradition. A way to honor our Houses.”

“Even if you’re not changing your House?” Gilly brought up a fair point. Jon was a Targaryen, the blood of the dragon coursing through his veins. But after so many years a Northerner, a Stark in all but name, he was more wolf and chosen their sigil for this night.

Besides, it was a lot to absorb so quickly. “With all he has been through, I don’t think he can truly see himself as a Targaryen.” That was what he had told her when he returned to her, the way he viewed their love. Yes, they may be aunt and nephew, but one of the many facts pointed out to him, they had not known when they had joined their bodies. There was some precedent in both their families as well, though it did little to assuage his initial reaction.

But in the blur of events that had occured recently, there was one fact that was clear to him. She knew he had made a vow to never father a bastard, saddle a child with that shame he had lived with all his life. And when she told him what their love had created, he repeated that vow to her. He did not say it solely for the miracle she carried, not merely because it was prophesied centuries ago, but because he had known his heart’s true desire from the first moment he had laid eyes on her at she sat on her throne at Dragonstone.

And now, they were here. In the North, in Winterfell. It was a place no Targaryen had conquered. No dragon had ever had to faced down a direwolf until her Drogon and Rhaegal saw Ghost and Nymeria leagues out from the ancient keep. It had been a surprise, no, a shock, when the four had met, equal parts tamed and wild, fire and ice. No fire was brought forth, no teeth bared. The beasts were peaceable with each other, warm and comfortable in the other’s presence. 

A knock at the door broke Daenerys out of her musing. Missandei left her side and opened the door a crack. From the hall, the voice of more kin she did not know of, said, “I have been asked to bring a gift.” Her friend had looked to her and Dany nodded, allowing Gendry Baratheon in.

Gendry Baratheon, legitimized son of the Usperer who slew her brother, cursed over the bodies of her niece and nephew and was feared by his best friend so much, she had thought herself alone in the world. From first appearance, he had seemed timid to her, afraid his king’s blood would offend her to the point of the sword. But she was won over by his modesty, his industry and the words of her betrothed and soon to be good sister. She laughed, remembering when she had gone to see him in his forge, told him she was going to bless him with a true name. The hammer he held reverberated throughout the forge when it fell to the ground. He was shocked and tried to not accept it, but when she had said it was a decree from Queen to Lord, she saw the fear in his eyes he must have felt if he continued his argument. 

Even now, he approached her as any stag would approach a dragon. He held in his hand a basket draped with linen, trying to piece together a sentence of explanation. “His Grace...the Lord…,” he tested, unsure of what was the correct phrase. “Jon asked me to bring this to you, Jon and Sansa and Arya and Bran,” he said at last, thrusting the basket at her.

She tried so hard to suppress a smirk forming on her lips. He would likely never get used to the station he had been elevated to. Not only was he a noble, Lord of Storm’s End, the ancestral home of the Baratheon’s, but after much explanation, blood of their blood, a Targaryen, far removed perhaps, but enough that Rhaegal at least, closed his eyes to Gendry’s touch, as peaceful as a pup. 

Daenerys held the basket and removed the cloth. Even before she had done that, the blues she could see alerted her to the gift. And then, she feasted her eyes on the roses that lay within. She lifted them up, expecting to find thorny stems, but instead, they were woven into a crown, small and delicate. The sight of it nearly moved her to tears.

“Your Grace, this upsets you?” Missandei asked, her face pinched in confusion.

“Not in a bad way,” Daenerys replied. She nodded to Gendry, smiling at him. “Tell Lady Stark, Lady Arya and Lord Bran my thanks. It is one of the most meaningful gifts I have ever received.”

Gendry at last returned a smile. “I will convey that to Lady Sansa, Lord Bran and milady,” he told her, amusement dancing in his eyes at her use of Arya’s little used title. He bowed again and exited the room after that.

Dany held the crown in her hands while Missandei and Gilly stood by awaiting an explanation. She turned to the two, telling them of the Tourney at Harrenhal, the winning of the last tilt and the crowning of the Queen of Love and Beauty. She told them that she held in her hands a symbol of a love secret yet deep, short lived but long lasting.

She knew how much this meant to Jon. It was the stuff of legend brought back to life, as surely as her dragons were. And it would be worn by her with pride, a sign from husband to wife, twice over.

She was just about ready when there was another knock at the door. This time, Gilly went to open it, admitting a knight’s entry. He gave Daenerys as good as smile as he could muster, as good as one who loved her and yet, was giving her to another man. But Ser Jorah Mormont had accept his defeat more gracefully than she had first known. Jon had told her he had offered to return his sword, given to him by the late Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and Ser Jorah’s father. But the knight had refused him, knowing he had forfeited the right to the Valyrian steel sword Longclaw and, in turn, acknowledging a bond he had formed with Jon Snow in more ways than one. 

“Your Grace,” he said, his voice solemn.

She swept her eyes over his armour. On the breast was a bear standing upright, its claws at the ready. She was happy for him. He again wore the sigil of his House and she knew it was with the blessings on the Lady of Bear Island. Jorah would not dare done so in the North without the approval of the young lady. But Daenerys had made a personal request and was backed up by the words of Jon and Sansa.

Ser Jorah’s voice sounded out again. “It is almost time.”

This would be the second of her marriages he would be present for. And she loved that he was here, and had been given such a high honor. She did love him. He was more than an advisor like Tyrion or Varys or Missandei. He had known the scared girl who had been sold to the Dothraki khal, had watched over the widow wandering in the desert, and he fought alongside the queen who had freed thousands of slaves. He was less than Jon or even Gendry, in terms of shared blood, but then, he had known one who had shared her blood more than any, a cruel and vicious manchild, power mad and stupid. 

Yes, she knew she was right in this choice, as sure as she knew she was right in choosing and loving Jon.

With all the grace of the queen she was she rose from her chair. Missandei and Gilly laid the cloak, emblazoned with the three-headed dragon, on her shoulders before she took his proffered arm and they walked through Winterfell and to her destiny.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
It felt wrong for Jaime to be here. Yes, his brother was Hand to the Queen, but he had killed the bride’s father, tried to kill the groom’s assumed father and been their enemy until just a few months ago. Hells, he had even tried to kill the bride!

Oh, how things had changed. 

And now, he was in the Winterfell godswood with a host of other lords and ladies, mostly from the North, the Vale and the Riverlands. Many were cordial to him, attempting to make him feel comfortable, but he still got deadly looks from Lord Edmure Tully, Lord Yohn Royce, even Lady Arya Stark. He really couldn’t blame any of them. He was still a Lannister, still the house responsible for the near destruction of the Targaryens, the Starks the Tullys, even the Arryns. However this Court accepted him, even acknowledged him as Lord of Casterly Rock. He had to laugh at that. His father’s greatest wish, that he be released from the Kingsguard to take up his place as Warden of the West, and it was by the graces of the dragon and the wolf, both of which Tywin Lannister had gone to his grave thinking he had vanquished. 

He was thinking on that when he saw Bronn approach him. Somehow, the former sellsword had worked his way up the social ladder to be a guest at such an auspicious occasion. And he was getting along better with many of those who kept Jaime at a distance. “One hell of a party, this will be,” he said, a mug of ale in his hand already. “Best enjoy it before the end of the world.”

“Ah, so this is why we keep you around, for your positivity,” Jaime said, his voice mocking. 

“No. As I have said before, I keep you around because you still owe me. And don’t throw your motto this way either!” Bronn glared at him as he repeated the argument he had been having with both Jaime and Tyrion since they met.

“Hear us roar?” Jaime couldn’t help himself with that joke, despite the look he was getting.

But something caught Bronn’s attention. “You, over there!” he yelled, drawing lots of eyes his way. Jaime searched the crowd, looking for who he was calling for, as Podrick Payne came their way, Brienne of Tarth a step behind her squire.

“My lords,” Pod acknowledged, nodding to both men.

“So, tell me, you been giving tips to the groom?” Bronn asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Pod’s face turned beet red as Brienne appeared to be trying to understand his meaning. “What tips are you talking about?” she asked. Jaime merely smiled. She probably thought it was something to do with swordsmanship.

But Bronn was quick to dispel that assumption. “I mean beneath the furs,” he said, though she still seemed confused. Bronn laughed, winking at Pod. “You really haven’t shown her that magic cock of yours!” Brienne’s mouth hung open at that statement, the sheer shock of it. “Come on, lad, you come help me refill my ale before this kicks off, and leave all the proper lords and ladies to their own.” And with that, they were gone from Jaime and Brienne’s company.

The Lady of Tarth still had her mouth agape when she turned back to Jaime, obviously trying to form a question. He merely shrugged his shoulders to her. “Something Tyrion mentioned to me about a gift of three whores and them refusing the coin. Really, I’ve learned it best to drown out his words when he mentions whores,” Jaime replied.

Brienne seemed to have regained her composure with that and bestowed on his a small smile. “Rather a different setting from the last wedding we were at together,” she remarked, watching a few snowflakes fall to the ground.

“Yes, and no one wants to kill either the bride or groom,” he said. “Well, no one here present. I’m certain...if Cersei were to be here, she’d have a different opinion, for more reasons than one.” He added the last bit when he saw Sansa Stark walk towards them, ahead of her brother and sister, and Jon Snow.

Watching the lord...king...whatever his title was today, it only made Jaime see more of his father in him. Both of them, the one who sired him and the one who raised him. Though there was little difference between Rhaegar Targaryen and Ned Stark, when it came down to it. Both honorable to the point of idiocy, both somewhat melancholic. 

He was thinking of the meaning of the man before them when Tyrion appeared at his side. “The bride is making her way here,” he told Jaime and Brienne. “This ended up working out easier than I had even thought.”

“You intended to have her marry the King in the North?” Jaime asked, not privy to all of his brother’s machinations.

“Well, one of the great houses. I even considered you, when I heard you were no longer a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard,” Tyrion explained. “Not that Cersei would have allowed Daenerys within hundred feet of you, even without the Iron Throne at play. But I suggested to the Queen that she leave her lover behind to make herself ready for potential alliances. For many reasons, Jon Snow didn’t even come to mind. But, in the end, it does feel like destiny.”

A princess, born in the west, raised in the east, who brought a magic lost back into the world and set aside her obsession with regaining a throne to save the living. A prince, born in the south but raised in the north, setting a course he believed his life to be, then given a throne he did not want, to fight the coming night. And together, uniting themselves in love and in war, awaiting a prince who was promised. It did have a ring of predestination about it, but there was something more, something poetic. “It sounds more of a song to me,” Jaime argued, as he watched Daenerys Targaryen arrive in the godswoods. “A song of fire and ice.”


	2. Jon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Daenerys return home to happy reunions, bad news and shocking revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jumping back a little in time to see how we got here. I know there's a lot more characters and relationships I have to deal with, but the scope of A Song of Ice and Fire is so massive to begin with, I fear I can't fit everything in well. But please stick with me. Hopefully, I be able to give everyone their moment to shine.

**A FEW MOONS PRIOR**

 

Jon Snow stopped his horse at the crest of the ridge and stared at the sight ahead of him.  A part of him thought he would never see Winterfell again, that he would suffer a fate similar to his grandfather, his uncle and his father.  But he went south, then to beyond the Wall and back south.  Now he returned to his home with barely a scratch.

 

The bulk of the forces he and Daenerys led were leagues behind, but, wanting to get the Queen to safety as soon as possible, he had led this party faster.  Now, he was but a hill away, the Queen and many of their advisors with hm.

 

Daenerys reached his side, stopping next to him.  He could tell by the look on her face that she was hesitating.  She feared being feared herself, that she would be seen as a conqueror, not as someone who was here to help them defeat the army of the dead.

 

“It will be alright, your Grace,” he reassured her.  “We will stick to the plan when we meet with the Northern Lords, but I will see if Sansa can begin speaking to those who have been most loyal to me personally.”

 

Daenerys turned to him, a soft expression on her face.  “Yes, your Grace,” she replied.  It was a code they had decided upon, to play down the fact that he had bent the knee.  He saw her turn and look at the two direwolves who had appeared two days before, then returned her gaze to Jon.  “They seem as anxious to get home as you.”

 

Now Jon looked at Ghost and who he assumed was Nymeria.  He had remembered Sansa telling him what had befallen her own wolf, Lady, on the Kingsroad, and what had prompted it.  Now, it seemed that just as Jon had found one of his siblings in the most unexpected of places, so too had Ghost.  He smiled when those red eyes turned to him, as if asking permission of him to head for home.  “Go on, boy.  Alert the Keep that we have arrived.”  Ghost and Nymeria took off like a shot, yawolling the entire way to Winterfell.

 

The party followed and then, as if it no time had passed, the gates opened and Jon, Daenerys, Tyrion Lannister, Lord Varys, Davos Seaworth, Brienne of Tarth, Gendry Waters and the Hound passed through them, Ghost on one side and Nymeria on the other.  And, in front of him, he found his family.

 

He had thought often of how he would react when he saw Arya.  A part of him wanted to jump off his horse, run and scoop her up in his arms.  He and Sansa had approached each other timidly, as if they could not believe their eyes, until they collapsed in each other arms.  But that reflected a childhood that lacked any closeness, because of his status in the household, and Sansa’s attitudes towards it.

 

But Arya was different.  She was his defender with her mother, Lady Catelyn, and Jon returned the favors, as often as possible.  Now she was standing there, beside Sansa and Bran, awaiting their brother.  He dismounted from the horse, pausing, deciding what to do.  Instead of going to them, he walked to Daenerys and aided her off her mount.  They looked into each other’s eyes but for a moment, then something unspoken passed between them.  She knew how much he had waited for this reunion, and he loved her more because, with a simple nod, she allowed him to be free of his duty as her lord and be a brother.

 

Jon turned back to his family, and rushed to Arya.  They were soon in each other’s arms, near seven years of pain and loneliness bleeding away.

 

“Hello, little sister,” he gasped out, trying to catch his breath as they parted.

 

A small smile graced her lips.  “Hello, big brother,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

 

He looked her up and down, surprised by the straight posture, the calm air that seemed to surround her.  It was so unlike her.  But, he figured, they had all changed a lot from how they were when they left.

 

Her eyes shifted away from him to the creature to his right.  They went wide as a name whispered on her lips.  “Nymeria?”  The wolf stared back at her before approaching slowly.  Arya was just as cautious.  At last, she held a hand out and Nymeria sniffed at it before giving it a few licks.

 

Jon couldn’t help but smile.  “She and Ghost came upon our camp from the south two days ago.  He came right to me, but she stayed back, accompanying us the remainder of the journey.” 

 

But it seemed his sister heard nothing of what he said, so he turned to Bran.  He was no longer the eager young boy, full of a benevolent mischief.  The eyes that Jon saw were old, far older than any of them.  It was an unsettling sight to see from his now-youngest brother.  

 

He knelt down in front of the wheeled chair Bran sat in.  He didn’t have the words, so he opened his arms and embraced him.  But Jon only received only a gentle pat on the back.  “Welcome back, Jon,” he said, his voice nearly lifeless.

 

Jon stood, and threw a look to Sansa.  His sister looked on sadly as the brothers were reunited, as if she knew just what had happened to Bran.  He decided to not bring it up with her right now.  But he did hug her, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

 

“You’ve returned,” she said, relief and pleasure mixing on her face.  “It is good that you’re home.”

 

“Aye, it is,” he agreed. 

 

Now, Jon regained his composure and wore the mask of a king, even if he no longer was one. He walked to Daenerys and, taking her hand, brought her forward.  “May I present Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.”  He left out all her titles, having forgotten again the long list he had been introduced to at Dragonstone.  “Your Grace, my sister, Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell,” Sansa curtsied perfectly, “my other sister, Lady Arya Stark,” Arya, who had finally turned her attention away from her direwolf gave him a sharp look, while he threw her a confused one back, “and my brother, Lord Brandon Stark.”

 

Bran’s expression was blank still, only drifting a few times between the two of them. It made Jon more uncomfortable.

 

But Daenerys didn’t seem to notice anything strange.  “It is a pleasure to meet you all.  Jon has told me much about you.”  It was perfunctory, meant to break any tension that may arise.

 

“It is an honor to meet you, your Grace,” Sansa replied, curtsying again.  She was acting like the perfect lady, but her eyes held suspicion in them to both Daenerys and he.

 

Jon looked around, surprised to see a few other familiar faces.  But one brought a smile to his face.  “Sam!” Jon called out.

 

Samwell Tarly stepped forward from beside Gilly, a nervous grin on his face.  “It’s wond-wonderful to see you again, your Grace,” he stuttered.  Then he nodded to Daenerys.  “An honor to meet you, your Grace,” he added, bowing slightly.

 

“What are you doing here?  You haven’t completed your training as a maester, have you?” Jon asked.   

 

“No, well, it’s just--” Sam replied, more jumpy than usual.  “I felt that I could be more help here than reading over must-musty tomes in Oldstown.”

 

“Well, you’ve already helped out immensely,” Jon said, embracing him again.  “We found the dragonglass and have mined it to forge weapons in the coming battle.  We even have a master blacksmith to help us, Gendry Waters of King’s Landing.”  He nodded his head to Gendry, but didn’t notice the look on Arya’s face when he said the name.  Nor did he see her look at the rest of the arrivals, noticing one other face familiar to her.

 

“He was the one who told you about Dragonstone?” Daenerys asked, her calm expression faltering for a moment.  Jon only nodded and Dany turned back to Sam.  “Then I would like to personally thank you and discuss your discovery with you later.”

 

“Ye-yes, your Grace.  Of course, your Grace.”  Sam’s reactions didn’t help stop the smirk from forming on Jon’s lips.  Daenerys made him nervous, so there was no telling what was going through his friend’s mind at the sight of Queen. 

 

Before he could continue with any other introductions that were needed, Jon heard the voice of Tyrion Lannister.  “Jaime?” the dwarf said.  Jon looked around and saw amongst the small gathering Ser Jaime Lannister standing behind Sansa.  He had last seen the knight in King’s Landing, at the parley, and he was surprised he had already arrived in Winterfell.  It had been an unusually long journey up to White Harbor, taking nearly three weeks, and then the winter snow had caused a number of stalls on the way.  But it was still too little time for a whole armed force to reach the North first.

 

The man couldn’t look graver if her tried.  Jon caught his eyes as they looked down in shame, before returning the stare. 

 

“We have a great many things to discuss,” Bran said, breaking the quiet that had befallen the gathering.  “Sam, please take me back inside.”  Without another word, Sam did as he was asked and wheeled Bran inside.  

 

Jon threw a look to Davos and the older man understood.  “We’ll wait for you inside,” he said as he led all but Sansa, Jaime, Tyrion and Daenerys to the Great Hall.

 

Once they were gone, Jon gritted his teeth as he anticipated what was to come.  “What happened?”

 

Tyrion began cursing, knowing full well that Cersei had gone back on her word without Jaime even saying a sentence

 

But then, Jaime began to explain.  “I met with the heads of the Lannister forces after you departed King’s Landing.  Cersei saw them and ordered them out.  Then, she proceeded to tell me that she had not intention of marching our army North and that Euron Greyjoy was bringing in the Gold Company to Westeros to bolster her forces down south.”  He took a deep breath before continuing with, “When I told her I intended to keep my vow, she threatened to have me executed on the spot.  The Mountain only awaited her order.”

 

Jon’s gaze shifted to Tyrion and then to Daenerys.  He saw the same look in her eyes as he had when she had flown Drogon to the Blackwater Rush and massacred the Lannister force returning from Highgarden.  He awaited the eruption he was sure to come.

 

But Daenerys, as she so often did lately, surprised him.  “Does she plan to attack at our backs as we fight the dead?” she asked quite calmly.

 

“I am not sure.  She gave me the impression that she merely is bringing in the sellswords to increase her defense of the lands she holds,” Jaime answered.  “But after she told me that and I said I was keeping my vow to fight alongside you, she declared me a traitor and I was not informed further on her plans before I left.”

 

“Were you able to bring anything to augment what we already have?” Tyrion asked, his question devoid of hope.

 

“Actually, I was able to bring some.  There were my men who aided the Freys in retaking Riverrun,” Jaime explained  “But with the deaths of, well, almost all the Freys, Lord Edmure Tully was able to seize his home back.  I arrived just as the battle was to begin again for the damned castle, and told the generals what had happened in the Dragonpit.  I implored them for their help and, thankfully, they were more sensible than our sweet sister and more loyal to me.”

 

“How many?” Daenerys asked.

 

“Of the Lannister forces, five hundred.  But the Tullys marched with us, adding another thousand between their own forces and that of some of their houses.”

 

Now another thought popped into Jon’s head.  “And where is Lord Baelish?  I would think he would still be shadowing you.”

 

Sansa’s face turned to ice, making her look like her mother more than usual.  It was a look Jon was sadly familiar with.  “Lord Baelish was tried and executed for the crimes of treason and murder.”  Then before Jon could ask any questions, she turned to Tyrion and Jaime.  “My Lord, Ser Jaime, I would like to personally apologize for our family’s accusations against you.”  She turned back to Jon.  “He murder Lysa Arryn.  He had Lysa Arryn poison her husband Jon Arryn and send a raven to Mother and Father accusing the Lannisters.  He conspired with Cersei and Joffrey to have Father imprisoned and executed on false charges of treason.”

 

Jon sucked in a breath at the thought of the implications of her words.  Everything that had happened, beginning with his father being named Hand of the King, had all been orchestrated by one man, a man who continued to manipulate events as the world descended into chaos from the collection of his earlier schemes.  He was actually angry he had not been given the chance to confront Littlefinger.  But he nodded.  “Father always said, our way was the old way.”

 

Sansa understood him.  “I passed the sentence, but it was Arya who was his executioner.  I know that is not in keeping with Father’s beliefs but...”

 

“It was close enough,” Jon consoled her, though he was distressed at the thought of  both his sisters going through with such a thing, and Arya being the one who killed him.

 

“Anything else I need know?” he asked, a note of humor whispered in his words.

 

Now, Sansa looked to Daenerys, her eyes crinkling with sympathy.  “Tormund and Ser Beric arrived here a week ago.”  She hesitated, not wanting to look at them as she said her next words.  “The Night King brought down the Wall at Eastwatch,” she said, her face pained by her next sentence.  “With a dragon.”

 

From the side of his eyeline, Jon saw Daenerys begin to collapse.  He was quick enough to catch her before she hit the ground.  “Daenerys!  Dany!” he cried, worry seeping into him as his propriety  slipped.  He hoped Sansa wouldn’t notice.  A moment later, the Queen opened her eyes and stared up at him.  He didn’t know what to say, the guilt so great within him.  “I’m sorry...so sorry.”  He held her tight, repeating his apology in a whisper.

 

“It’s not your fault,” she replied, even though her words did nothing to assuage his feelings.  Not saying another word, Jon helped Daenerys to her feet and all went into the hall.  Jon knew they had a lot to discuss, but as he passed through the threshold, all he heard was Arya’s voice yelling very loudly.

 

“You’ve been alive and traveling with Jon all this time?” she shouted.  “How did you even survive?”

 

“I told you to go for the heart, you little bitch,” the Hound replied calmly for someone getting screamed at.

 

That made little sense to Jon, but her next comment made even less.  “And you!”  Jon saw Arya pointing to Gendry.  “I thought the Red Woman killed you too!”

 

The young man nodded his head in Davos’ direction.  “Ser Davos freed me and sent me on my way off Dragonstone.  Suggested I hide right under the Lannisters’ noses in King’s Landing.  Been working at the forges there ever since.”  Then he gave Arya an intense look.  “I’m glad you made it back to your home.”

 

“It was a long road back,” she said as they joined the group. 

 

“You know my sister?” Jon asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

 

Gendry turned to him, fear written on his features.  But as he stepped forward, it was Arya who explain further.  “He and I escaped King’s Landing together.  It was after King Robert died, after...”  Her voice faded for a minute, and Jon saw a sharp pain in her eyes.  He knew when they were talking about.  “His master was informed about the king’s order to kill all of Robert’s bastards.”

 

“My Lady!”  Davos’ face looked panicked as he turned to Daenerys and Jon.  Jon understood and for a few seconds, shared his advisor’s worry.  Daenerys had no love for Robert Baratheon and was liable to turn her fire on the young man for the fact about his paternity.  Davos hadn’t even wanted Gendry to reveal that fact to Jon and was peeved when the he had confessed it immediately after he introduced the two.  Not that Jon would have held that fact against Gendry.  As he had pointed out, their father’s were best friends.

 

Thankfully, to the relief of all, Daenerys merely raised an eyebrow.  “And  to think, the last Targaryen besides me in the world and it is a bastard son of the Usurper.”  She smiled at his confusion, then offered an explanation.  “We are cousins, you and I.  My grandparents were siblings to your...great grandmother, was it?”  She looked to Lord Varys, who nodded to the question. 

 

The blacksmith’s only response to her was a series of unintelligible sounds from his mouth.

 

But it was then that Bran spoke up.  As he had appeared older than he was, his words held an unworldly amount of knowledge, an eerie context.  “No, Daenerys Stormborn.  There is another with your blood who still lives.”  Now, utter silence fell over the room.  Bran sighed deeply before beginning again, looking at Jon.  “I said to you we had much to discuss.  I had hoped to have been able to tell you this more privately, but perhaps it is best we are all gathered here.”

 

Sam stepped beside Bran’s chair.  “I’m sure whatever you have to say can wait.”  His tone was beseeching, as if he wanted Bran to hold off on whatever the information was.

 

“No, it must be done immediately.”  He looked at a few of the faces present, lingering on Jaime and Varys for some reason.  “It was meant to be this way.”  Bran turned to Jon and Daenerys before continuing.  “Jon, the question you have always asked, since you were a small child was, who was you mother.”

 

Jon’s blood ran cold.  His brother was right, he had always begged their father for her name, where she came from.  But Eddard Stark had taken that information to the grave.  “You know who she is?”  He didn’t have a clue as to how Bran would have learn that.  “How do you know?”

 

“He has visions,” Sansa piped up.  Jon’s head whipped to her.  “He knew that Littlefinger had betrayed Father in the Throne Room.”

 

Jon looked back to Bran, awaiting an acknowledgement.  Without a thought, he slipped his hand into Daenerys’ surreptitiously as he awaited an answer.  

 

Bran launched into his tale.  “I have seen the creation of the Night King by the Children of the Forest.  My abilities allow me so see where he is, even now.”  Then a touch of sadness fell on his face.  “I have seen the Stark children in their youth and the bond they had.  I have your birth and how you came to be brought here to Winterfell.  That is the reason why you are here.”  Now Jon’s heart was beating faster, almost more than he could handle.  Dany’s hand squeezed his tighter, making him blink at last.  His mind was warring with itself:  a part of him wanted to know, but something in his brother’s face feared that knowledge.  For some reason, Bran turned his attention to Ser Jaime.  “You wanted to go with Ser Arthur, Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell when Rhaegar sent them to Dorne, is that correct?”

 

Jaime fidgeted under the gaze of the unwelcome attention he found himself receiving.  “Ser Arthur was my mentor, the man who knighted me.  When I heard he was being sent away from the capitol, I did want to go, but I was commanded…” He stopped his explanation, as all there knew what he’d been commanded to, and how it ended.

 

Now Bran looked to Varys.  The Master of Whispers had not said much since their arrival at Winterfell, merely observing the goings-on around him.  “A little bird told my father that his sister Lyanna had been taken to Dorne by Rhaegar, to a place called the Tower of Joy in the Red Mountains.”

 

Varys’ face remained as unreadable as Bran’s when he answered, “Yes.  I had heard that was where she was being held in the time since Rhaegar had taken her.”

 

“But she was not taken, not by force,” Bran said.  “Rhaegar knew her to be the part of a prophecy he had been obsessed with since his youth.  A prophecy we are seeing played out today.”  Then he looked back to Jon.  “He was fire, and she was ice.  Together, they would bring the Prince who was Promised.”  Another pause, and then, “The rebellion that came from the kidnapping of Lyanna Stark was all a lie.  They ran off together, in love with each other and dedicated to fulling what had been foretold.  They married each other in the presence of the Old Gods and the New.  And they had a son, though neither would live to know him.”  Now Bran looked to the Lannister brothers.  “But she knew she needed to ensure that the prophecy came true, so when her brother found her, she begged him to protect her son  She knew what had happened in King’s Landing and feared the wrath of Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister on a child of dragonblood.  So Ned Stark made a vow to his dying sister, one he kept to the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor, to protect his nephew.”  

 

He could not believe what he was hearing, even as he realized the many implications.  Every fiber of his being denied Bran’s words, his brother’s words.  “I am the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark,” he said, trying to remind all gathered what he himself knew.  “A motherless bastard got from a...a tavern wench or...a whore.”

 

Then, with one final blow, Bran destroyed the identity Jon Snow had known all his life.  “No.  You are the son of Rhaegar of House Targaryen and Lyanna of House Stark and Targaryen, trueborn, the blood of kings within your veins.  You never were a bastard, but Jaehaerys Targaryen, Third of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.  You are the Prince That Was Promised.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Tyrion (and some Jaime!)


	3. Tyrion I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion starts gathering information for damage control, then has reunions with people he's been separated from

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Tyrion really is the gem of the whole Game of Thrones worlds. And Jaime is fast becoming one of my favorites. So, we have a little bit of history and brotherly bonding (and Bronn!). Also, I am a Tyrion/Sansa shipper. It may have been for a power play, but Tywin did do something right with them.
> 
> Also, as noted on Fires, I'm juggling three stories, so the writing may be slowed a bit. I'm still trying to write a chapter a week with each story, but not promising anything.

For a split second, Tyrion disbelieved the words of Bran Stark.  But then, as his formidable mind went to work, connections being made, it all made sense to him, everything that had happened over the last twenty-five years or so.  As he thought deeper, there were even a collection of amusing ironies to go along with the whole tragedy of the thing.  But now was not the time to mention any of that.

 

With Bran’s declaration, Daenerys Targaryen dropped her hand from Jon Snow’s and took three steps back from the side of the man who had just seemingly displaced her on the Iron Throne.  The Stark sisters expressions were exactly the same--neither one of them looked like they believed it and both began protesting their brother’s words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth.  Davos only stood there, his bottom jaw looking as though it would fall off and crash to the ground.  Brienne of Tarth, Sandor Clegane and Robert’s bastard looked like they would rather be in the Black Cells right now than in the Great Hall of Winterfell.  Varys was more unreadable than usual, as if he were trying to figure it out in his head as well.

 

And Ser Jaime Lannister laughed.  At first, it was a light chuckle, as if he were reacting to one of Tyrion’s japes.  But then it grew, distracting the attention from Jon or Bran.

 

“Not really a laughing matter, brother,” Tyrion mumbled reproachfully.  But Jaime laughed more, doubling over and grasping his stomach.  Quite frankly, it shocked the younger son of Tywin Lannister.  “Jaime, stop it!”

 

His brother finally began to calm down, wiping the tears that had burst from his eyes with his laughter.  When he had at last composed himself fully, he had a wicked grin on his face, one that had not appeared since before they had parted at Winterfell long ago.  Then he launched himself into the role of storyteller, a position Tyrion was not used to.  He was the one who played the role more often.  “From a young age, my sister dreamed of marrying a prince.  But not any prince.  She was to marry Rhaegar Targaryen.  She even said a witch told her she would marry a king.  And really what is a prince to become?  Our father, after she told him what had been relayed to her, did everything in his power to ensure that dream of his little girl’s came true.  He thought his position and long friendship with the king would ensure it.  And Cersei had that dream, until the day Rhaegar married Elia Martell.”

 

Brienne stepped over to him.  “Ser Jaime, maybe we should leave...this matter to be dealt with between the Starks and Queen Daenerys?”  It was a wise suggestion, one Tyrion hoped his brother would take.

 

But he did not.  “That night was the first of our long, destructive cycle.”  Now he moved to Her Grace.  “Then there was the Tourney at Harrenhal, when Rhaegar crowned Lyanna Stark the Queen of Love and Beauty.  All those gathered registered a degree of shock, but only one spit out fire as if she truly was a dragon than her, not even Princess Elia.  Cersei fumed at the gesture, during and even hours after.  Even me inside her couldn’t quell her fury.  She still thought of Rhaegar as hers, that if anything were to happen to the princess, Cersei would slide in and capture him.  When she received word that Rhaegar had been killed at the Trident, by Robert Baratheon, she raged at Lyanna Stark, believing such nonsense that Lady Stark was a practitioner of blood magic and used it to seduce the prince to her and, ultimately, his death.  And on their wedding night, before Robert had drunkenly fallen asleep on top of her after doing his duty, the last word he said was the name of Lyanna Stark, who was, of course, dead by then.  Cersei cursed her to all Seven Hells, because even from the afterlife, she haunted Cersei through a man that, in the end, neither women wanted.”

 

“What is your point?” Daenerys said, her voice like a fire about to be unleashed.

 

Jaime only asked a question of his own, going off on another tangent. “What is the purpose of the Kingsguard?” he asked, his voice an odd tone to Tyrion’s ears.  “Really, does anyone know what the greatest vow of the brotherhood is?”

 

“To protect the king,” Gendry answered sheepishly, then tried to shrink away from the focus of Jaime.

 

“Correct!” Jaime shouted, as if a maester acknowledging a pupil’s answer.  “To protect the king.  So, why would Rhaegar Targaryen have sent the three greatest knights of the Kingsguard to protect some woman he kidnapped and hid away in Dorne?”  He looked around, awaiting a response.  “Conventional wisdom would say any fruit to come out of such union would be bastards, disqualified from inheriting a latrine from its father.  And, as Rhaegar was married with two children already, what need would he have of those bastards?  I mean, we’ve seen the destruction that could be wrought when bastards assumed more than they would be given.”   

 

Varys provided it.  “To protect a woman as his son grew within her,” he said smoothly, a queer look on his face, as if he had come to  realization.  “A son, who, under the proper circumstances, such as a marriage, would be a prince, and possibly even a king.”

 

Jaime face lit up, especially when Varys said the word ‘king’ and he nodded.  Then he turned to Sansa, Arya and Bran.  “Let me tell you something that was known the realms over about your Aunt Lyanna,” then, looking to Jon,  “and about your mother.”  His smile softened, as if in admiration of his subject.  “No one could make Lyanna Stark do anything.  Nothing had that ability, not her father, not her brothers.  Had she gone through with the marriage to Robert, it would likely to have been at swordpoint, after she was bloodied and broken.  She fought against anything and anyone she felt she had to.  So the fact that she had been grabbed and thrown on horseback by the Crown Prince against her will was horseshit.  I saw the expression on her face when she was given that crown of winter roses.  I saw, but no one noticed how Lyanna looked at Rhaegar, and the look he gave her back.”

 

Then he spun around, his back to everyone in the room.  Tyrion saw he was caught up in a cascade of memories.  “One night, when Robert was more drunk than usual, he admitted to me, that, sometime later, after the tourney, he confronted Lyanna about Rhaegar’s attention, furious that she even entertained it.  She told him, ‘There is nothing you can do to stop the union of  the wolf and the dragon.  It is a prophecy as old as the First Men and Old Valyria.  It is the song of ice and fire.’’  He returned his gaze to them.  “Why was it thought to have been a kidnapping, a rape?  Who put that thought into Brandon Stark’s head?”  Now Jaime’s frame sagged, as if he had run out of energy.  “I don’t think Robert thought it would follow the course it did, for Brandon or Lord Stark.  I think he meant for the heir to Winterfell to go after Rhaegar himself, wherever he was, not confront the Mad King in the Red Keep.”

 

Then he looked to Jon.  “I believe it.  It makes the picture so much clearer, makes all the pieces fit:  the escape, the disappearance of both of them, the reason why my brothers were in Dorne and not protecting their prince.  The prince who they loved, who we all loved, so much, thousands of leagues away.  Rhaegar made them vow to protect a prince, who he was aware could be named king if circumstances fell the right, or wrong, way.  And sadly, they did.  The baby born under their protection was their king from the moment he of his birth, and they kept their vows to give their lives for him.”

 

Jon held his gaze, his face a storm of emotions.  Then he turned and fled the room, leaving everyone startled.  Ghost, who had been laying in front of the fire beside the second direwolf, saw his master flee, and got up to follow him.

 

No one else moved.  

 

Tyrion looked up at Jaime, a long last.  “I never knew you were so eloquent,” he said, turning his attention to Daenerys who stared in the opposite direction, “but now, we are more fucked than when we were in King’s Landing.”  He saw the Queen move to a chair, trying to catch her breath.  “Your Grace?”  His eyes filled with worry.  This young woman had always believed she was in line to assume a throne, even one so far away from where she came.  It had be the staunch belief of her brother before her, until it destroyed him.  Daenerys also believed she was the last of her blood alive.  Hells, Tyrion had said words such as that when they first met.  Now, in the space of a half hour, she had discovered not just a distant cousin born a bastard, but her long dead brother’s trueborn son, hidden away all his life until she was about to accomplish her greatest goal.

 

“Blood of my blood,” she whispered.  “Jon...is it truly possible?”

 

Varys opened his mouth to answer, but Arya Stark gave her own reply.  “It’s not true.  It would say our father lied for years...to everyone.”  She was shaking her head fiercely in denial.  “Our mother, our brothers, his whole household.  He would lie to his best friend who he helped put on the throne?”

 

“To protect his sister’s son?” Tyrion wasn’t sure if it was a question or not when Sansa spoke.  She was nodding her head to the affirmative, a wordless confirmation.  She then turned to Varys.  “Rhaegar had two children by Princess Elia, correct?  What happened to them?”

 

Varys nodded.  “Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon.  They were killed during the sack of King’s Landing.”

 

“Murdered,” Tyrion added, his face red with shame.  “At the orders of Tywin Lannister.”

 

“And Robert did not shed one tear of those sweet, innocent children,” Jaime’s voice came quietly, still locked in memories.

 

“Father never told anyone.  He bore the shame of having fathered a bastard.  But he raised Jon with us.  He was taught by Maester Luwin and trained by Ser Rodrik, as would be befitting any heir and any other legitimate son.  Over the protests of our mother, over the whispers of the servants, Jon was treated as if he had a chance to inherit something,” Sansa told her sister before quirking an eye at Jaime.  “Maybe not Winterfell, but perhaps a keep, if he were ever legitimized.  Father raised us, all of us, to be brothers and sisters, no matter the status of our birth.  Saying Jon was a bastard and raising him here at Winterfell was the surest way to ensure he was protected, and cared for...and loved.”

 

The anger rolled over Arya’s face.  “You never wanted him to be your brother,” she stated, her voice harsh.  “He was always ‘my half-brother’, ‘my father’s bastard.’  Out of all of us, you never saw him as anything close to our equal.”  She spat out her next sentence, intending it to hurt.  “You never loved him.”

 

Sansa looked to the floor.  Tyrion knew the younger woman’s words were true.  When they were married, Sansa had, in a moment of vulnerability shown to him, told Tyrion that she was ashamed of her treatment of Jon when they were children.  She said she often prayed in the godswood of King’s Landing that Jon would be able to come and rescue her from the horror she was living in the capital.  And that was even before the Red Wedding.  And she looked to be ready to admit her sister was correct, until Arya herself stormed out of the room.

 

Sansa watched the wake Arya left behind her, Nymeria following her just as Ghost had Jon.  She made an attempt to go as well, but Gendry shook his head.  “Milady, let me go see to her.”  He received a strange look for his words.  He blushed, telling her, “If things had gone differently, we would have been family.”

 

“Listen to the smithy, little bird,” the Hound spoke up, though no one knew why.

 

Sansa seemed to think about it, and finally, without a word, nodded her ascent to Gendry, who left right away.

 

Tyrion’s mind began to work again, all the news absorbed at last, adding into the story Bran had told them with his brother’s memories.  He turned his attention to Bran.  “I don’t fully understand how you know this and it may all be true.  But, additional confirmation would be most useful.  Besides what you ‘see’, is there anything further?”

 

Until Samwell Tarly spoke up, Tyrion had forgotten he was in the room entirely.  “I found the, the proof,” he said.  “Well, Gilly did actually.”  He was terribly nervous, scared even, but he explained,  “She’s been learning to read and, when we were in Oldtown while I was to a maester, I was given old books and parchments to transcribe for posterity’s sake.  Anyway, one night, she was reading the diary of High Septon Maynard.”

 

“Maynard?”  Tyrion tried to place the name, at last coming up with an answer.  “An incredibly learned man, if far too detailed.”  Sam looked ready to agree with Tyrion’s assessment.  “I remember him coming to Casterly Rock.  He had a keen interest in learning more of the Old Gods, more so than any septon I had ever met.  He traveled to as many godwoods as he could, and encouraged the lord he met with to better preserve any with carved faces.”

 

Tarly nodded.  “Anyway, Gilly asked me what the word ‘annulment’ meant and, after I told her, she said that the diarist gave an annulment to a Prince ‘Ragger’ and then remarried him in a secret ceremony in Dorne.”

 

“Samwell told me this when he arrived at Winterfell.  Until then, I thought, as Jon was born in Dorne, his name was Sand instead of Snow,” Bran added, voicing an original, apparently mistaken, belief.  “But Sam asked if I could See this event, the marriage.  And I did.  Rhaegar and Aunt Lyanna were married in front of a weirwood tree, representing her faith, the Old Gods, with the authority of the High Septon, his, the New Gods.  Then I went back to Jon’s birth, and heard the name Aunt Lyanna told Father.  He said, ‘His name is Jaehaerys Targaryen’ before she continued to implore Father to protect him.  She only died after Father assured her he would.”

 

“And you have this diary?” Davos asked.  As one of Jon’s advisors, it was best if others had seen the documented confirmation along with all the rest.  Sam only nodded.

 

“Bran, the woman who returned with you to Winterfell, wasn’t she Meera Reed?” Sansa asked, remembering something else. 

 

When he nodded, Varys spoke up.  “Lord Howland Reed was the only person to return from Dorne with Ned Stark, his ‘bastard’, and the Lady Lyanna’s bones.  Is he still alive?”  Sansa nodded.  “Then I suggest you summon him, if you can.  If anyone could corroborate Lord Stark’s story and the writing of Maynard, it would be him.”  

 

“Lord Reed sent word a week ago that he was setting out for Winterfell to add to our forces.  If the weather can improve, he’ll be here with them in a few days.”

 

“Well, that is interesting.  The crannogmen rarely offer support in battle without being summoned.  Though I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised.”  Then, as if caught up in a memory of is own, Varys added, “At Harrenhal, Lord Reed was set upon by three squires, and was rescued by Lady Stark.  The next day, the lords of the three were defeated in a joust by a mystery knight, one who Areys deemed a danger to him for some reason.  He ordered the knight found, but when Rhaegar returned from the hunt, all he had was the knight’s shield.  Might we have finally learned the identity of this noble person, if Howland Reed comes without being asked?” 

 

But that question was left hanging by the Queen herself.  “It is true,” Daenerys said, her first words in quite a while.  “What Lord Stark has seen, what Sam Tarly has said.”

 

“And how can you be sure, your Grace?” Tyrion asked as he saw her rise from the chair she had been seated in.

 

“Drogon,” was all her answer was, no further explanation given.  And with that, a few screeches were heard from outside, announcing the arrival of the dragons.  “I should to see to him and his brother.”  She glided out of the room, no backwards glance to any of them.

 

“What does she mean by that?” Sansa asked.

 

The question was not directed to anyone, but Tyrion answered it anyway.  “Only those with the blood of Old Valyria can tame a dragon.  Daenerys told me about an encounter Jon had with Drogon, the largest and fiercest of them.  She feared Drogon would harm your brother in some way, but, instead, he allowed Jon to pet him.”

 

“Pet him?”  Sansa sounded incredulous.

 

“Yes,” Tyrion confirmed.  “As if he were the direwolf ever at your brother’s side.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tyrion heard the sound of swords clashing and when he spied who the combatants were, he decided to enter the training yard for a closer look.  Circling each other were Jaime and his old associate, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.

 

Tyrion had to smile.  “I guess you took my suggestion,” he said to Jaime, breaking his brother’s concentration enough to allow Bronn to nick his cheek.

 

The sellsword let out a laugh as he nodded to the Queen’s Hand.  “Thank you for that.  I was getting myself into a right pickle.”

 

“Jaime’s improved?” Tyrion asked.

 

“Well, he’ll never be as good as he was, but he won’t get himself killed,” Bronn replied, stepping over to take a gulp of ale from a mug on a side table.

 

“Thank you for such high praise,” his brother retorted gently, grimacing as he wiped  the trickle of blood.  He gave Tyrion a meaningful look.

 

The younger brother understood.  “Do you mind if you can bring this session to a close?  There’s things I and my brother need to talk about.”

 

“I’m sure there’s lots you to need to talk about,” Bronn replied, before taking Jaime’s sword from him.  “Best I leave you unarmed.  You did say you’d split him in half next time you met up.”

 

When he was gone, the two sat next to each other.  For a moment, Tyrion didn’t know what to say, where to begin.

 

Jaime was the first to speak.  “I lost her when I returned to King’s Landing after helping the Freys,” he said.  “We were on the last hill before the capitol and I saw the smoking remains of the Sept of Baelor, and I knew.”

 

“Knew it was her doing?” He thought he understood what was being explained.

 

“Knew why she sent me to help the Freys in the first place,” Jaime replied.  “Tommen had removed me from the Kingsguard and ordered me to help the old fool and his pack of idiots get Riverrun back.  I told Cersei that instead, I was going to give Bronn a bag of gold for assassins to kill the High Sparrow.  She said if I did, I wouldn’t leave the sept alive.  Then she told me to lead the army as ordered.”  Jaime stood up and grabbed his mug, taking a swig before he continued.  “She knew about the wildfire, she knew where to lay it out.  And she knew that if I knew her plans…”

 

“You wouldn’t have killed her, Jaime.”  It was a statement, one Tyrion believed with all his heart.

 

“Remember when I was talking earlier about Cersei being prophesied a queen?  Well, the crone said more.  She told Cersei she would be killed by the ‘valonquar.’”  When Tyrion gave him a questioning look, Jaime explained.  “It’s a High Valyrian words that supposedly means ‘little brother’ or ‘younger brother.’”

 

“This ‘valonquar’?  He was going to be the one who killed her?”  Tyrion asked.  “Well, I am a dwarf and she has acted my entire life like she was expecting a knife in the back from me.”

 

“Remember one thing, brother.  You are not the only ‘little brother’ Cersei has.”  Jaime had a queer look on his face when he said that, and then a sad smile appeared.  “To the consternation of our father, she is his firstborn, after all.”

 

Tyrion shook his head.  “You would not have killed her.  Areys was a madman, intent on burning down a city full of people.  Despite what everyone thinks of you, you were a hero that day.”  His hand rested on Jaime’s arm, patting it.

 

“I thank you for your kind thoughts, brother, but she was ready to kill me.  To kill both of us,” he said.  “If it was so easy for her to even think of it, it would be just as easy for me do it.  She’s been lost to me since…”  He was lost in thought, trying to pinpoint exactly when.  “She hasn’t been the same since the last time we were all here, since young Bran...saw...”

 

Tyrion understood what he meant.  “Do the Starks know?”

 

“Bran does, I’m sure of its.  He hasn’t said anything, but if can see Rhaegar and Lyanna marrying,” he answered.  “I’m not certain about the sisters.  I suspect if Arya knew, we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”

 

Another quiet fell over them, until Tyrion saw Sansa on a balcony above.  “If you will excuse me.  I thought it best to have a parley with an advisor of the King in the North regarding what was learned today.”

 

“Is he king?  I thought he’d bent the knee to your queen,” Jaime asked.  

 

“I wish I had an answer for you, brother.  But, if young Lord Stark is correct, Jon Snow is very much a king, and always has been.” Tyrion sincerely wished to know that, but from the look on his former wife’s face, he wasn’t hopeful.  Then he stopped and threw one last comment over his shoulder.  “And to think, I encouraged the lad to wear the label of bastard with pride.”

 

He walked up the stairs and bowed to his former wife.  From their arrival early in the day, he had been observing her as much as possible.  She had grown, strong and proud.  The hints he had seen in King’s Landing fully flowered now, especially in the way she dealt with Littlefinger.  Sansa returned the curtsy.  “I think a drink is needed for the both of us, to get us through this conference.”

 

She offered him a smile that he knew as her mask of courtesy.  “If you will follow me, my lord.”  She led him to her solar, where the desk was cluttered with papers, there was a dish of a half-eaten meal from earlier in the day, and a fire that needed tending to.

 

As he had suggested, she poured two goblets of wine, not the finest vintage he had tasted, but a relief all the same.  “Have you spoken with Jon since…?”

 

“Since his world was blown apart?” she asked, her expression as cold as the temperatures outside.

 

“I apologize, my lady.  I cannot even imagine what he must be thinking.”  Tyrion did feel for the lad.  He’d always had a tender spot for bastards, among others the world tended to ignore, but he’d noticed something different and special in Jon from their initial meeting and journey to the Wall together.

 

She took a breath to calm herself.  “And I am sorry for my words.  It has been a difficult day.”  Then she got up and hefted a book in front of him.  “Sam showed this to Davos and I a short time ago.  It’s the diary he mentioned and it does say the HIgh Septon permitted the annulment and performed the marriage ceremony.”

 

“But does it specify Lyanna Stark was the bride?”  It was a stupid question, Tyrion knew by now, but he was grasping at anything, as he held a piece of knowledge few others had.

 

“Was there word that Rhaegar kidnapped any other maids at the same time?”  It was meant as a jape, Tyrion knew, but had a vicious sting.

 

He sighed, knowing the answer.  “I was young back then, and rather sequestered at the Rock, but no, to my knowledge, there was only one.”  He looked at Sansa, her face ready to crack.  “My lady, how are you taking the news?”

 

“I can’t yet answer that question, my lord.  My thoughts are occupied by my worries for Jon, Arya, not to mention the demons we face.”  Tyrion didn’t have to be told what her worries were.  It would be obvious to a blind man, had he been in the Great Hall earlier today.  “Arya wasn’t wrong with her words.  I never did see him truly as my brother, until I saw him at Castle Black.  Even then, I feared his reaction to me.”

 

“He had been separated from his family as much as any of you.  Worse, I’m sure, as he thought his life would end without ever seeing you after you left Winterfell.”  Tyrion tried to make his words as soothing to her as possible.

 

Her smile was all gratitude.  “When I first saw him, he was at the top of a set of steps and then he caught sight of me, he looked as if I was the last person he expected to see.  He came down to the courtyard and the closer he got, the more his mouth dropped open in surprise.  we were a few feet apart...I don’t know who was first, but we just opened our arms to each other and he gripped me like he would never let go.”

 

“I know what a comfort an older brother can be in a seemingly hopeless situation,” Tyrion told her.  “I thought I was coming to be taken to the block, called whoever it was coming into the cell a son of a whore.  And then Jaime scolded me for speaking of our mother in such a way.”

 

She nodded her acknowledgement to his short tale.  “Then he spent hours, just listening to me, to all that had happened.”  She gave him a knowing look.  “All that had happened.  When I finished he told me about the mutiny, about how he had been murdered and brought back to life, not two days previous.”  She sighed in an attempt to stave off tears he was sure were threatening.  “I came that close to losing him.  And knowing Robb was dead, and thinking the same of Bran and Rickon and Arya...I was so close…”

 

Now she could not help it.  She sucked in air, trying to gather her control.  But is was a losing battle and it broke Tyrion’s heart.  He had truly come to admire her during their brief marriage and he took seriously his vow to protect her.  He stood in front of the chair she sat in and opened his arms to her.  She fell into them, wrapping her arms around his small torso.  

 

“But you didn’t lose him, or Bran or Arya.  You all made it back, in spite of everything the world threw at you,” he whispered to her.

 

She finally calmed herself and sat back in the chair.  “That’s just it.  In a way, I did lose them.  Arya’s a skilled killer, one who frightened me even though I knew she was acting to throw off Baelish.  Bran, I cannot even explain what happened to him.  There’s something inhuman about him now.  And Jon.”  She shook her head, trying to deny her next thought.  “He may not be my brother by blood, but I will never think of him as anything else.”

 

Tyrion offered her a tentative smile and she returned it.  Then he began to speak.  “I envy you, the fact that you do have so many siblings that love you.  Jaime has been the one blessing within my family that I have been granted in that regard.  That’s a terrible thing, having only one person to say you can count on.  But you have three as your support.  No matter how they changed.”

 

“‘The pack survives.’”  She nodded and face set into a picture of resolution.  “It seems no one has seen Jon since he left the hall.  Arya can usually find him, and may have, but I have not seen her nor Gendry either.”

 

“And the Queen has been with Drogon and Rhaegal since she left,” Tyrion informed her.

 

Now Sansa looked at him like a wolf eyeing its prey.  “About them, my lord.”  He had a idea what she was about to bring up and schooled his features into something likely seen at a gaming table.  “When Her Grace passed out when informed of her dragon, Jon acted rather familiar with her, more than liege lord to sovereign.”

 

“Really, you thought that?”  He was absently paging through the book Sansa had shown him, trying hard not to look at her.

 

She nodded her head leaning in closer.  “Also, as Bran revealed the truth, they were standing rather close to one another, grasping each others hands strongly, only for their hand to drop and step back suddenly from each other.”  She leaned on her desk, her face in front of his.  “Tell me, has more happened than a mere alliance?”

 

Swallowing, he knew his face could no longer lie.  And another complication was added to the already unsightly list they had to deal with.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Arya (and Gendry and a little spider.)


	4. Arya I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's search for a wolf is hindered by a stag and a spider.

Arya Stark hadn’t felt this sense of desperation since she was a child. She knew she was too far behind Jon when she left the Great Hall, but, all the same, she just had to find him. Trying to remember back to when they were children, Arya thought through all the places Jon would hide from her mother. Then she heard her name shouted. She knew who it was who was calling her, but she didn’t have time to think about Gendry. Yes, she was surprised and relieved that he was alive, but her brother was her only priority now. 

She ran to the godswoods, the first place that came to mind. It had been a place favored by her father--their father--and she knew Jon would often go there himself to get away from Lady Catelyn. She’d usually find him under the weirwood, staring across the pond. That brought back a memory of when she would ask him what he was doing and he would tell her he was dreaming.

“Dreaming of what?” she’d ask him, remembering one time in particular.

“Dreaming of being someplace that wasn’t here. Dreaming of castles by the sea, and dragons, of the snow and direwolves,” he answered her. 

That had excited Arya. She loved hearing the stories about Aegon and his sisters when they conquered Westeros. She wished she could dream of the Targaryens’ majestic beasts too, but they never came to her. “I don’t want you to ever leave,” she said, her voice pleading that to him, for some unknown reason.

“I will have to leave, someday.”

Arya shook her head, leaving begging and moving to insistent, even demanding. “You aren’t allowed to leave. I don’t care what Father or Mother or Robb or Sansa say. You are not leaving.”

He’d chuckled at that, and said no more, deciding to appease her. 

But, in the end, he was right. He left, they all left Winterfell and it was the worst thing to ever happen to her family. Arya had often heard her father say, “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” Now, they had seen what befell their family when not one of them was.

She passed through a thicket of trees, turned towards the weirwood, but nobody was there. The snow, freshly fallen, was pure and unblemished beneath the great tree’s red-leaved branches. He wasn’t here. She needed to try someplace else, and left the godswood.

By time she continued her search, Gendry had caught up to her. “Get out of my way,” she snarled at him as headed in another direction she thought her brother would go. She was stalking out past him, Nymeria having waited for her and when the wolf saw Gendry, she threatened him with a snarl of her own.

Gendry, who’d been at a full run when he saw her, reared up like a spooked horse. “Arya!” he called to her when she crossed the courtyard, but she ignored him. Then he yelled at her “Milady!” probably hoping that would stop her.

It worked. “What did you call me?” she fumed. “What did I tell you? Have you forgotten that when you forgot about me?” That sounded too girly even to her ears, but she had indeed said it.

Eyeing Nymeria as he fought off a grin, he said, “Of course I haven’t. But I knew it would get your attention.” Damn him but he was right. She turned away, trying to ignore him and making her way to her next stop.

She was about to begin her descent into the crypt, when he spoke again. “And I never forgot you. I thought of you every day. Even when I met your brother, all the while we headed north, I wanted to ask him about you, but I was scared.” He was heaving breaths now, calming himself. “I was a king’s bastard and he was a king. He was a brother and I didn’t feel worthy asking about his lady sister.”

Gendry’s words had Arya’s heart racing. She tried to quell it. “I have to go find Jon. He’s--he’s hiding somewhere and I have to find him. I was always the one to find him when he hid.” Arya didn’t know why she was explaining this to Gendry, but the words spilled out.

“I want to help,” Gendry said. “He’s a friend and I, I guess I know what he’s going through...somewhat.”

“You’re Robert Baratheon’s bastard.” She understood now where he was coming from.

“That’s why the goldcloaks were looking for me when we escaped King’s Landing,” he reminded her of when they first met. “It’s why the Red Witch wanted me. She brought me to Dragonstone, intended to sacrifice me for my uncle, Stannis Baratheon. Said something about king’s blood, needing it for some spell.”

The Red Witch. Her name was already on Arya’s list. Hearing what Gendry had gone through with her, it only knocked her name higher up. “How did you escape?” she asked, deciding it was better that than what she was really thinking. A voice was telling her she didn’t have time for this now, that she had to find Jon. But something wouldn’t allow her feet to move from the spot they were in.

“Like I said before. Ser Davos, your brother’s advisor, broke me out and set me on a rowboat back to the capitol. I went back to smithing and that was where he found me.” Gendry flashed her a smile, his blue eyes shining brightly. “He planned to just send me up here to work on the dragonglass that was mined, but I sort of came out and told your brother who I was.”

She remembered the older man’s reaction in the Great Hall. “And being you’re Robert’s son, and he killed Daenerys’ brother, that may have not gone over well with the Dragon Queen,” she concluded.

“No, it may not have,” he agreed. But then, he seemed to pale as if realizing something. “And I get a feeling Jon may look at me differently now that it turns out--” He looked down at his feet before lifting his eyes back to her. “Let me help you, at least. Better two pairs of eyes than one.”

When she thought about it, he was right. “Jon won’t blame you because it’s not true,” she said, still in denial about what had been said by Bran. “Nymeria,” she ordered next, causing the direwolf to stand down, as if she were the pup Arya had lost on the Kingsroad. Then she nodded her head behind her. “He used to also hide in the crypts. It’s a place my mother would rarely go.” She waved Gendry over and when he passed, she looked at the animal again. “Stand guard.” Nymeria sat and bared her teeth, threatening a few smallfolk who were merely walking past. 

Arya led the way, lighting a torch when they reached the bottom. Gendry looked at his surroundings in awe and a little fear. “All the lords of House Stark are buried here, from Bran the builder to my father,” she explained, as they approached her father’s statue at the foot of his tomb. But she had to walk past him. With so many emotions churning, she couldn’t think about him. Right now, she couldn’t stand to look at Ned Stark.

It had to be a lie, she kept telling herself. Father would never keep something like that from Jon, from her, from his wife. And, seeing Daenerys Targaryen, Jon looked nothing like a Dragonlord. It was known throughout the realms of their pale skin, indigo eyes and silver-blond hair.

Jon was light-eyed and dark-haired, every inch a Stark. People even said how much the two of them looked alike. But when she passed the statue of her aunt, Arya also remembered how people commented on her likeness to Lyanna Stark. She couldn’t think about that now. “Jon!” she called. Her voice merely echoed down the corridor. Then she brought the torch around Lyanna’s tomb. Still nothing.

“Your father,” Gendry said a few feet away.

“Wha--?” Arya wasn’t paying attention to where Gendry was. Jon wasn’t there and she couldn’t think of where to look next.

But when Gendry spoke next, she finally gave him her attention. “I met him when he came into my shop, when I was still an apprentice.” Gendry looked back at the statue. “He wanted to know why the King’s Hand came to find me. Told him I didn’t know. It wasn’t until I was taken to Dragonstone that I found out who my father was.”

She hadn’t wanted to look at her father’s effigy right now. She had to find Jon. But when Arya turned back and stared at those cold stone eyes, something within her broke. “Is it true, Father? Is Jon really not your son?” She demanded an answer she knew would never come, but she asked anyway. “I can’t believe you would lie. I won’t believe you lied.”

Her father still didn’t speak, but Gendry did. “It sounds like he was trying to protect his nephew. Better in my book than my own uncle, who wanted to sacrifice me.” Then he came closer, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Ser Jaime and Lord Tyrion’s father had Rhaegar’s children killed all those years ago. And later, Cersei had all of my father’s other bastards killed, even though none of us were acknowledged. The Lannisters wanted no chance of any claim to the throne other than theirs. Your father knew what they were capable of, even then, so he had to lie to protect Jon.” 

Arya knew he was right. “If anyone learned about Jon, he’d have been killed. We all would have been, labeled traitors and executed.”

“Yes, your would have,” a voice drifted into the crypts. Lord Varys walked over to them languidly. Then, he turned his attention from Arya and Gendry and looked at the effigy of Ned Stark. “I underestimated your father, much to my detriment. I should have known a man so above reproach would never have lain with a common whore.” He walked past her father’s statue to look up at Lyanna’s. “And I should have suspected there was more to Rhaegar’s relationship with Lyanna.” He picked up a candle, placing it in her hand and lit it with another. “I am so sorry, my dear. I knew Rhaegar could have been the savior of the Seven Kingdoms and I thought he had descended into little better than his father when he and you ran off. He found that which he had been searching all those years for in you.”

Arya had always been suspicious of the Master of Whispers, but she saw an expression of his face she would call pity. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

He offered her a smile. “Prince Rhaegar had, since childhood, been obsessed with prophecy. He came to believe that he was the Prince Who was Promised, a legendary warrior in the coming battle against the Long Night. Or something like that.” Varys walked around them in a circle, glancing at the statues of the other kings and lords. “Then he found a passage that spoke of the union of fire and ice, and thought that his son was the one spoken of. And from there, believing himself to be the fire referred to, he began searching for his ice.”

Arya looked to her aunt’s grave. “Winter is coming,” she said softly.

The Spider nodded. “Unfortunately, his search was derailed by the marital ambitions of Tywin Lannister and the maddening of his own father, who betrothed him to Elia Martell. But the Dornish know as much about the cold as the Lannisters do poverty. Rhaegar and Elia were married, of course, had a child, but when she was pregnant again, the maesters recommended that it be her last child. And Rhaegar believed he needed three children, so he went back to his search for his ice. He must have believed he found her just outside of Harrenhal. From there, all the realms thought they knew the story. Yet, it seems now, they were all wrong.”

He didn’t explain himself further as he made his way to the stairs up to the courtyard. But Arya stopped him with a question. “Do you know where Jon ran off to? You are said to have little birds who inform you of everything in Westeros.”

Varys shrugged his shoulders. “Alas, my lady, I have been here too short a time to properly feed them, so they have no songs to sing for me yet.” He was about to leave when he looked at Gendry. “And you are welcome, my young friend.”

Gendry’s eyes narrowed. “What do I have to thank you for?” he asked, a touch of anger in his voice.

“Who do you think it was who informed Tobho Mott that there had been an order to kill Robert’s bastards? Who do you think it was who sent you to the blacksmith in the first place?” The Spider’s smile was rather charming, Arya thought, and just as deadly. “I was told not long ago that everyone was what there were and where they were for a reason. I figure it extended to bastards as well as everyone else.” Then he was gone.

Both were still mystified by what Varys had said, but it caused Arya to look back to her aunt’s grave. She was remembering Bran’s words, Jaime’s story and despite all the pain that was surrounding the Starks and Winterfell, she admired Lyanna more than she ever had. “It’s rather romantic, if you think about it,” she said to Gendry, sitting down and looking at her aunt’s statue. “Even if it did cause a war. To love someone so much, be able to throw everything away to be with that love…”

“Even when it’s not right?” Gendry asked as he joined her on the ground.

“Even then,” she agreed. She didn’t know why she was even thinking like that. There were never any boys interested in her in that way, and she certainly had no interest in them like that. But then, she saw Gendry’s expression as he sat next to her, and his words reverberated in her mind. Arya trained her gaze away from him, then back. He was still looking at her the same way. “Stop that!”

He nodded. “Like I said, not proper. I’m still a bastard and you’re still a highborn.”

Arya thought about events she had learned of that occured during her years in Essos. “Robert and Renly, his youngest brother, had no trueborn children,” she said. He looked at her, confused until she went on. “Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen weren’t Robert’s. Cersei’s brother Jaime was the father. That was what my father learned and it’s what led to his arrest and execution. Sansa had told me the barebones story shortly after Littlefinger’s death. Anyway,” she sighed, gathering her thoughts, “They had no trueborn children and it seems the Lannisters were able to kill most, if not all of Robert’s bastards.”

“Expect for me,” he told her.

She nodded. “Except for you. And Stannis had only one living child, a daughter, Shireen. But it’s been said around here that before his army was defeated by the Bolton’s, Shireen died as well, then he was killed in battle.” Her lips quirked upwards as she came to her conclusion.

“What does that mean?” Gendry would have no idea of the workings of noble houses, but Arya had at least some understanding of those things. 

“You may be the last member of House Baratheon alive,” she replied. He still didn’t seem to understand, so she would have to clarify it for him. “Bastards can be legitimized by kings or queens. I used to pester Father on Jon’s behalf for him to write to Robert about it. Anyway, since they are one of the great houses, and you are related to Daenerys…”

“No!” He jumped back from her, at last getting her point. “I would never...could never…”

“Jon’s just learned he never was a bastard, but actually hidden prince. How different is that from you?”

Gendry stood up and hauled Arya to her feet. “What made you think of that? Never mind, let’s just go look for your brother.”

“But think about it! Lord Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End,” she teased. “Maybe that’s what Varys meant by saving you and watching over you, about being where you were when you were for a certain reason.”

But he still shook his head. “I have, we all have bigger problems than me thinking I can even be a lord. I saw the army of the dead, Arya, I saw what’s coming for us.” His attitude turned grave, startling her. “But I do vow to protect you as best I can.”

“Thank you, but I don’t need your protection,” she said, annoyed and angry and happy all at once. “I learned much in the years we’ve been apart.” He gave her a sharp look. “But that is a tale for another time. We should continue looking for Jon.”  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
It was getting late and Gendry had been tired from the remaining journey to Winterfell, so he went off to catch some sleep, promising to check in with Arya when he awoke. She saw him to the room that had been set aside for him and made her way to find her sister. Knocking on the door of her solar, she heard Sansa come to the door.

“Still no sign of him?” she asked. When Arya stepped in and nodded, Sansa sighed wearily. “And if you can’t find him…”

“I’ve looked everywhere I could think of, the godswood, the crypt, even the Broken Tower. It’s like he just disappeared,” Arya said in frustration.

“You didn’t always succeed in finding him, you know. There were times he only resurfaced when he wanted to. And if there were any reasons for him to be unfindable, now would be one of them,” Sansa reminded her. She sat behind her desk again, draining a goblet of wine.

It was then that Arya noticed the second glass. “Who was here?” she asked, her guard up.

“Lord Tyrion,” Sansa began, but Arya didn’t let her get another word in.

“What was the Imp doing here?” While Tyrion Lannister seemed to be the best of the family, he was still a Lannister and therefore, someone she distrusted on principle.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “He’s Hand to Queen Daenerys and I’m not just one of Jon’s advisors, but also his sister who has been by his side for the past year.”

“You are also Ytrion’s former wife,” Arya replied, “who forced you to be married for political maneuvering.” 

“By his father who thought little of not just Tyrion, but his other children. All Tyrion, Jaime and even Cersei ever were to him were pawns on a board. It wasn’t Tyrion’s fault for our marriage, but Tywin Lannister’s machinations,” Sansa shot back. “And in any case, marriage to Tyrion was a paradise compared to who my original betrothed was, or the second man I was forced to marry.”

Arya narrowed her eyes, remembering Lady Crane’s play in Braavos. “He didn’t push for the marriage?” she asked. “He didn’t force himself on you?”

“Why would you think that?”

“When I was in Braavos, I saw a play about Robert’s death, the Lannisters,” she said before a momentary hesitation, “Father’s death. It made it seem like Tyrion used his position as King’s Hand to marry you and take you against your will.”

Now her sister gifted her with a sympathetic face. “Mummer’s exaggeration, it sounds like,” she told her. “In fact, Tyrion protected me a great deal in King’s Landing, before and during our marriage.” Sansa didn’t look like she wanted to share any more details and Arya was loath to push, but then the persona of Lady of Winterfell dropped. “Whenever Robb won a victory, Joffrey would have me beaten in front of the Court, until one day Tyrion and Bronn came upon the scene. He chided Joffrey for my treatment, telling him the Mad King did as he liked and reminding him what Jaime did to him. When Meryn Trant threatened him for what he said to Joffrey, he told Bronn to kill Trant if he spoke again and said that was threat. As I left the Throne Room, he asked me if I wanted an end to the engagement, but I declined, knowing I was safer with it than without. He understood my thinking and said I might survive yet.”

“At our wedding, he threatened to castrate Joffrey before the whole ballroom and then later, fell asleep, drunk, on a chair in our room, not even sparing a glance at me, as I prepared to do my duty.” Now, as if preparing herself for the next part of the story, she took several deep breaths, steeling herself. “And when word reached King’s Landing about Mo-Mother and Ro-Robb he tried to comfort me.” She seemed ashamed for some reason. “All I saw was a Lannister, not someone who cared enough to come tell me himself and do everything he could to help me cope, not to mention tell his family they made a grave mistake that would haunt them.”

Then she looked at Arya, a hardness in her eyes, the Lady of Winterfell returned. “In a way, I regret not ever consummating our marriage. It left me open to Littlefinger and Ramsey.” 

Arya didn’t know what to say. She thought back to the performances, and realized she should have understood they were folly. “Since he protected you, I will return the favor and place him under my protection, should he need it.”

“Hold off on that until I tell you what we discussed,” she said with another deep breath. Then Sansa told Arya about Tyrion’s discovery when they were traveling to Winterfell. It shocked Arya. In truth, being that he had been a Brother of the Night’s Watch, she believed Jon to still be a virgin. When Sansa concluded her news, she added, “And now, to learn he’s not Father’s son, but in truth a prince and that they are aunt and nephew…”

Arya swallowed, nodding her head. “I can see why he’s hidden himself so well.” More things had been made clear now, but they only made the situation worse.


	5. Daenerys I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys finds a lost king and meets a great lady.

Daenerys thought to go look for Jon herself, even though she had no clue to the layout of Winterfell. But instead of searching for him, her feet propelled her outside the walls and to an open field. The further away from the keep she got, the more she looked to the skies for Drogon and Rhaegal. At last, each caught sight of the other and her two remaining children landed. She ran to Drogon, cradling his head as much as she could. 

“You knew, my son, didn’t you?” she asked him in High Valyrian. “That day, on the cliff, I was frightened you might do something...rash. But you sensed him and, in a way, I think he sensed you.”

Rhaegal moved her head to her, and she ran her hands along his scales. A mirthless chuckle came from her. “To think I believed the only connection I had to my long-dead brother was you,” she told him. 

Her head was spinning with the emotions she was feeling. There was elation, of course. She had believed herself to be the last of her family, of someone with such a purity of Valyrian blood. The last of the Targaryens, and now, it was not true. But the family she had found when Bran Stark told them who Jon truly was led to two conflicts for her.

The first one was the fact that she was falling in love with her nephew. To much of the world, it would be a relationship deemed unnatural, an affront to gods and men. But they were Targaryens, who for centuries, even before arriving in Westeros, married brother to sister, often polygamously. She herself grew up thinking she would marry her brother Viserys. As he slipped further into his obsession with retaking the throne, it looked to Daenerys to be a repeat of her own parents, with madness and abuse the hallmark of their relationship. It seemed like a blessing now, the fact of her being sold to Drogo for his army. So, to her, their kinship meant little to her, and only seemed to draw them closer together. 

Then the second one was that as Rhaegar’s son, he was the true heir to the Iron Throne, something that she herself, like Viserys before her, believed to be their birthright. Her brother’s other two children were slaughtered with the sacking of King’s Landing, leaving a young brother and not even born sister in the line of succession. But no one seemed to know that Rhaegar had put aside Elia Martell and married Lyanna Stark, not even the so-called Master of Whisperers. And even more a secret was the fact that Lyanna had birthed a son while hidden away in Dorne. Only two souls seemed to have been privy to that knowledge, and one of them was now dead.

With only the dragons to hear, Daenerys closed her eyes and sent up a whispered prayer. “I thank you, Lord Stark, for saving your nephew, my nephew. I know not what it cost you, but I am eternally in your debt.”

“It cost him his honor,” a voice called back, causing her to open them and look around. She had not noticed the woods not far from where Drogon and Rhaegal had landed, but standing amidst the barren trees was Jon Snow and his white direwolf, silently watching Daenerys and her dragons.

She was confused by his words. “I think it was noble of him to go against his friend and hide you from any harm,” she replied, moving towards him. But the closer she approached him, the further back into the forest he stepped, so she stopped her progression. “You were his blood and he promised to protect you.”

“He lied to his wife, to his children...and to me,” Jon protested. “You don’t understand, your grace. He was known as the most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms. He could not think to tell a lie, his honor so high. He bore the stain of fathering a bastard, the ire of Lady Catelyn, for a lie!”

“For his sister’s son,” she argued. “For the life of an innocent child newborn, who would have been killed like his brother and sister for the mere fact of who his father was. Jon, I know that Tywin Lannister unleashed his soldiers within the walls of the Red Keep to do as they pleased. And I know Ned Stark was the one who sought justice for those crimes, only for Robert Baratheon to spit on the corpses.” She frowned, a memory coming to her. “Viserys used to call Lord Stark ‘the Usurper’s loyal dog,’ but a dog would have laid down and rolled over if it’s master ordered it. And that was what Robert sought to have done when the crime was brought to his attention. Yet, Ned Stark did not. Varys told me he left the city soon after to continue the search for his sister. He tried to save her, and when he could not, he saved you.” With each sentence, she managed to close the gap between the two, until he close enough to reach for. Ghost did not move from where he stood, allowing her to reach Jon’s side, seemingly captivated by her words, even as they broke upon his master.

“He could have told me,” Jon stated, his voice breaking. 

She smiled at him sadly. “A word to you could be heard and carried back to royal court. Total secrecy, though painful to you, even to him, was necessary to keep his vow.”

He took a few shuddering breaths. “I know,” he said at last. When he regained a measure of his composure, he told Daenerys, “The last time I saw him, he told me when we were together again, he would tell me about my mother.”

“It sounds as though your brother will be left with that task,” she replied.

“Cousin,” he said as a way to correct.

“I would like to see you try that on Arya.” Daenerys remembered how he spoke of his younger sister and then how touching their reunion was not long ago. Then she tugged on his hand, allowed to draw him closer to the dragons. “Did I ever tell you how I named my children?” she asked, deciding to ease him into anything further on his lineage.

He looked up at Drogon, who narrowed his eyes at Jon. “They were name for your husband and brothers, correct?”

She nodded to the affirmative. “Knowing that Viserion has been taken and made a demon in the service of the Night King, though painful, is just like my brother Viserys. He was gentle as a boy, but as he grew, his desire for the throne made him into a monster until he was killed by Drogo. And, it feels appropriate that Rhaegal is here now, as he is named for your father.”

He made no reply to her comment. She felt he was too caught up in the revelation of his birth to think of anything else, so she continued to try and help him cope. “Dragons are highly intelligent, highly insightful creatures. Drogon seemed to sense your Valyrian blood when we were still at Dragonstone,” she said to him.

He blinked, glancing her way before bringing his attention back to the black dragon. “When he landed, I feared him for a minute, but then, something within urged me to reach out to him. I was stunned when he seemed agreeable to my touch.”

“He knew,” she simply explained. 

“Aye, and when we were together,” he added, his eyes now boring into her, “I felt a much deeper connection than I expected.” He looked deeply into her eyes, scorching in the snow and cold.

“And how do you feel about it now? I know it is believed to be wrong, but the Targaryens thought that to keep our blood pure, we must keep to within our own family.” She was anxious as she asked, fearing his answer. 

He blinked, saying nothing for a minute. “It’s too much, too soon, to give you my answer. A part of me understands that belief, but it has also lead to madness and destruction.” Then he brought up the next topic that this information had implications on. “I don’t want it, your grace, you must know that right away. I didn’t want to be Lord Commander, I didn’t want to be King in the North. Hells the only reason I was even considered for that was as a detriment to Lord Baelish’s ambitions.”

She smiled, unsurprised by what he had said. “As you say, too much and too soon. And we have advisors and family to consult with when the matter arises. There is much for us to get through before we must deal with the Iron Throne itself. But I will leave the subject with an insight. You were chosen for two titles you had no desire for. That's why they were given. It is often side, power is best in the hands of those with no want of it.” 

She took his hand and made to head back to Winterfell, but he was unmoved. “I can’t go back, not yet.”

Daenerys looked to the sky and saw the darkness descend. “Night is falling, and the cold is rushing in. Shouldn’t we return for some comfort?”

He gave her a smile, the first genuine one since she had found him. “We are in the North, Daenerys Stormborn. And trust me, these are mild temperatures. We have wood for a fire, and fire breathers to light the kindling. Not to mention a warm fur coat eager to comfort us even if it does more harm than good.” Ghost seemed offended by the comment, baring his teeth for a moment. Then his face returned to a seriousness that often pervaded his demeanour. “I wish to know anything I can about my father. I know he died before you were born, but anything would be a comfort.”

She nodded, understanding the desire. So, after they had gathered branches and Drogon had obliged them with fire, they sat together, Ghost’s fur coat offering some comfort along with the fire. They reveled in each other’s presence as she began to speak. “Understand, all I know of Rhaegar come from very dissimilar sources. The first is my brother, who admired and loath him at the same time and the other was from a former Kingsguard who traveled to Essos after he had been...retired by the Lannisters.” She began with the stories of Viserys, how great a warrior their brother was, fierce and unforgiving in battle until he was felled by a drunkard. He had hidden from the war at first, not wanting to deal with the consequences of his actions in the kidnapping of Lyanna Stark. 

“But Ser Barristan once told me Rhaegar did not like fighting, killing, even if he was good at it,” she said, hinting at a conversation they had what felt like a lifetime ago as they watched three dragons flying in the sky. “Instead, Rhaegar loved to sing and would often collect coin from passersby in King’s Landing.” She thought for a moment, remembering another story that was told to her. “Lord Varys told me he was an eager learner, but prone to superstitions, melancholic, yet a joy to our mother.”

She told him more and he sat silently, paying all his attention to her until she noticed the sun come up. “It’s almost morning,” he said unnecessarily. “Mayhaps we’ve been away too long. I fear the chaos we left behind and ourselves constructed.”

Blanketing the fire, they set off back to Winterfell. The gates opened for them as the call went out that the King had returned. Unseen by even Jon, Daenerys quirked an eye at that. They had no idea how correct they were.

When they were in the courtyard, she caught sight of Sansa Stark. The younger woman had an odd expression, considering the worry she surely felt with Jon’s disappearance the evening before. But by the time the Lady of Winterfell approached them, her face was blank to any unseen problems. 

“And where were you!” she reprimanded, as if he were a naughty boy. “We were out all night looking for you. Arya and I were beside ourselves with worry.”

“Sansa…” he groaned.

“No, do not start,” she argued. “While you decided to vanish and brood, most likely, Lady Mormont returned with the troops she promised. The young Lady would like to see at your early possible convenience.” The expression she gave Jon was a look as to say, she is demanding an audience at once.

“Lady Mormont, you say?” Daenerys asked. “The commander of my Queensguard is Ser Jorah Mormont. Is he of the same house as this Lady?”

At that, both Starks looked to be in a panic, though Daenerys did not know why. But is was Jon who explained. “Ser Jorah carries a death sentence, here in the North,” he said. “Our...Lord Eddard Stark passed the sentence for the crime of selling men into slavery.”

She thought on those words for a moment, recalled hearing such a tale long ago. “And will you carry out this sentence when he arrives with the remainder of our forces?”

Before Jon could give an answer, Sansa interrupted. “No,” she stated firmly. Even Jon turned to give her a look. “We follow the old way. It was something I was taught by our maester, by Father. ‘The man who passes sentence…”

“...must swing the sword,” he finished, understanding her meaning.

Sansa nodded. “I am glad to see your time South has still left a Northerner in you,” she commented archly, with Jon rolling his eyes at it. Then she turned back to Daenerys. “As it was our father who passed sentence years ago, and since he himself,” she paused briefly, composing herself, “is unable to follow through, his life will be spared.”

Daenerys nodded in approval. “Ser Jorah aided me in saving tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of men, women and children from the bonds of slavery in our years in Essos. I would think that could be a factor in a pardon, wouldn’t you agree, my lady?”

“While I see nothing wrong with that, Your Grace, I will have to seek counsel from the Lady of Bear Island,” she replied, nodding towards a young woman, still a girl really, walking in their direction. Sansa moved forward and greeted her. “Lady Lyanna Mormont, it is good to see you again.”

“Lady Stark,” she said, short and sweet. “I have brought the promised supplies and soldiers you request. How should they be directed?”

The Lady of Winterfell responded just as directly. “Have the commander of your forces report to our Master-At-Arms, and your maester to Wolkan.” Lyanna Mormont turned to one of her people, nodding a wordless order. That finished, Sansa spoke to her again. “It is fortuitous you returned today.” She stepped to the side. “The King in the North has returned, with Daenerys of House Targaryen.”

“My Lady, as you can see, I have returned with nary a scratch on me,” Jon said trying a jape on the girl.

“And did you return with the dragonglass you sought?” she asked, sparing a glance at Daenerys.

“Yes, my lady, I allowed him to take as much as he deemed needed,” Dany answered. She was somewhat surprised and somewhat not by the withering look she was getting, but she had faced off against Cersei Lannister, a woman who wanted her dead. This rather forceful girl was nothing compared to the Lioness of House Lannister. “As it happens, His Grace, his lady sister and I were just discussing the various houses in the North. We have not yet broken our fast. Would you care to join us so I can learn more about the people of Bear Island?”

Even Sansa shared a knowing smile with Dany, while awaiting an answer. Lyanna stayed silent, as if pondering the offer, then nodded once. “I will be in shortly. I have to make sure things are completed properly and hastily.” Without another word, she turned her back on the three of them.

“And that is Lady Lyanna Mormont,” Jon said taking a breath as if the youth had sucked the air from their midst.

“Lyanna? She was named for your mother?” Daenerys asked, raising an eyebrow to the two Starks. 

Jon looked down, as if not wanting to think on the fact. “I suppose so,” he said.

Now she asked Sansa, “How great of an ally is she? Are her loyalties in question to any degree?”

“She has been our strongest ally since we determined to retake Winterfell from the Boltons, Your Grace. Ser Davos was the one, in fact, that brought her around to come to us in our time of need,” Sansa told her before throwing a glance to Jon. “In fact, it was her denunciation of many other more powerful houses to admit to their shame at not being on our side. Her words led almost immediately to Lord Manderly kneeling before Jon as he was named King in the North.”

“Orchestrated by you, remember?” Jon muttered to his sister.

She returned a smirk. “All the same, what was it she said? ‘We know no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark. I don’t care if he’s a bastard. Ned Stark’s blood runs through his veins.’ I did not put those words in her mouth, only an idea.” Sansa had a satisfied grin as she recounted the story.

Dany took Jon’s arm and led him a few steps away. Then she turned to him. “Jon, I know that you are still uncomfortable with this revelation about your parents. But, I think that if we are to start to share this knowledge with anyone outside of those present, would it not be wise to try on her? If she is unwavering as you and Sansa say…”

He looked unsure. “I have hardly had a chance to take it all in, as well as those close to me. We must also tell her of her cousin who is soon to arrive and I am not sure how she will take it. She is much like Ned Stark in her devotion to honor.”

“I understand,” Dany replied. “We shall leave that question for the moment. There are more pressing matters for us to put before the little she-bear.”

“Aye, there are, but for you own safety, do not use the word little in front of her,” Jon said, a laugh escaping his lips.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
As it happened, other matters came up, precluding Lyanna and the Starks from breaking fast together, so plans were changed for the midday meal. Daenerys was actually relieved by this, as it gave her more time to prepare herself for the young head of House Mormont. Ser Jorah had been tight-lipped about his family because of the shame he had brought to them. But Jon and Sansa only spoke highly of the house and the members of the Mormont family.

They all gathered in Sansa’s solar, Jon, herself, Arya, even Tyrion and Davos joined them. Lady Mormont walked in and offered a small curtsy before taking her seat.

After a report was made, Daenerys decided to begin to broach the matter that she wanted to speak to the young woman about, and she figured the best way was to let her speak on her family. “His Grace, Lady Stark and Ser Davos told my of how you came to their aid in retaking Winterfell, but may I ask, how did one so young come to lead a noble family?”

The girl’s mouth straightened and a cloud of sadness passed over her face for but an instant. “Before I was born, the head of House Mormont was my uncle, Ser Jeor Mormont. When his son came of age, he stepped aside to take the Black.”

“He chose to do so voluntarily?” That surprised Dany. From the little she knew of the NIght’s Watch, it was a form of sentence commutation for criminals to pay for their crimes.

“My mother and uncle had an older brother who died young. The way my maester tells it, Uncle Jeor did not feel worthy of the title, but stayed until his son was of age. When he was married and knighted, his father stepped aside,” Lyanna explained.

“Lord Commander Mormont was a great leader of the Night’s Watch. I was named his steward, even though at the time, I did not understand the position he was setting me up for,” Jon added. “After I took my vows, he gave me his ancestral Valyrian sword, Longclaw, even changing the pommel from a bear to a wolf.”

“My cousin was Jorah Mormont. He brought dishonor to our house when he sold poachers to slave traders from Essos. Lord Eddard Stark sentenced him to death, but the coward fled before he could be captured. As he had no heirs, the title passed to my mother.” The tale finished there for Lady Mormont, whose face went back to the stern visage Daenerys originally saw. “My mother died at the Red Wedding, at the side of King Robb Stark.”

Daenerys’ face must have signalled that she did not know of this Red Wedding, but, even as Arya Stark visibly blanched, she told her about it. “My uncle, Edmure Tully, was to marry a daughter of Lord Walder Frey. All our banners were there, as was my mother, my brother and his wife, a woman from Volantis who was pregnant with their firstborn. At some point during the feast, the Freys, as well as our bannermen, the Boltons, turned on him. They were all massacred, many of their bodies...defiled.” Jon’s youngest sister, who appeared immensely strong and brave, looked like a vulnerable little girl as she spoke of the incident. “I was being brought there, by Sandor Clegane, who was looking for a reward from my family. He...got me away from...he saved my life.” 

Dany felt her anger stoked at hearing of the fate of Jon’s brother. But that was something to be inquire further at another time. Then, thinking of Lady Mormont’s last comments about her cousin, she saw her opening into the matter at hand. “Have you heard of my time in Essos?” she asked. When the girl shook her head, the Queen launched into her own tale of being sold into marriage, widowed and left childless and wandering in the deserts of the continent trying to find a way to regain the Iron Throne. “I saw the suffering of the people under the yoke of slavery, and I decided to do something about it. By the time I returned to Westeros, there was no more slavery in any corner I had reached.”

“A noble endeavour, Your Grace,” Lyanna admitted, even though she didn’t look impressed.

“And I was aided by two men, Westerosi knights. One was a Ser Barristan Selmy. He was former Kingsguard to my father and brother, Rhaegar. The Lannisters forced him out and he chose to search for me to help me regain my throne,” Daenerys said. “The other man who was by my side was an earlier ally. He came to teach me of my homeland and traveled with me while I was khaleesi and after my husband’s death. Eventually, I learned he had been feeding information to the Uspurer in exchange for a pardon for his crimes here.” She let out a short laugh, remembering the first time she had banished Ser Jorah. “He begged to stay by my side, that he loved me.”

“But you could not?” Lyanna asked.

Daenerys nodded. “Eventually, he returned, offering me the gift of the son of one of my enemies.” She waved her hand in Tyrion’s direction, “I chose, instead, to take the man as my advisor and banished him again. He returned a third time, trying to save my life when my enemies in Slaver’s Bay tried to assassinate me. Then, he found me and aided me overthrowing the khals of Vaes Dothrak. I had to take him back, as I could not have him killed and could not send him away again.” She looked down at her hands, overcome with the memory of seeing him that last time. “He told me I had to, that he had been afflicted with a mortal disease. I commanded him to find a cure and return to me, and he did return to my service when I was on Dragonstone. He eventually served with your king when they set out to bring a wight as evidence of the threat beyond the Wall.” Now Daenerys looked at Lyanna, studied her reaction to the story. “Tell me, what would you make of such a man, who betrayed me, but continued to be in my service, even when I would have ordered his execution? A man who risked his life many times over to save mine, when I refused his presence in my company, among my advisors?”

Lady Mormont took a moment to formulate her answer. “He is a man who brought dishonor upon himself,” she answered, “but, knowing that, sought by any means in regaining it, even if he died trying.”

“You should be proud of the honor of House Mormont, my lady, because such a man sits among you,” Daenerys said, “and rides with my forces to join our fight against the forces of the Night King. The man I speak of is your cousin, Ser Jorah Mormont.”

All eyes were on Lyanna Mormont, awaiting her reaction.


	6. Sansa I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old comrade of Lord Eddard comes to join the forces of the Army of the Dawn, bringing with him tales of the past. Unfortunately, someone doesn't want to hear them.

The meeting with Lady Lyanna Mormont had been two days ago, and while they awaited an answer from the Lady of Bear Island, more of the forces pledged to fight against the Night King’s army arrived. Hornwoods, Glovers and a few smaller houses joined the vast army that had begun to take shape.

In the late morning, as she and Arya walked through the main yard, the gates of Winterfell were open. In trotted two horse, their riders carrying the banners of House Reed, followed by rest of the contingent of crannogmen. Before going to greet them, Sansa signaled for a guard to alert Jon and the queen. Then she approached them.

They had been expected, but Sansa knew they did not make the trip up north frequently, or lightly. And they were here with a surprisingly sized host. After the whole of House Reed’s forces made their way into the courtyard, one man, short, bulky with graying hair, dismounted from his horse. “Lord Howland Reed, of House Reed, my lady,” he said with a bow. “We have come as we swore, to pledge our service to fight the oncoming darkness, to fight for the living.”

Sansa had heard many tales over the years of Howland Reed. He had been the only other person to return to the North from Dorne with her father. And with my brother, as well, Sansa thought. “Lord Reed, we are grateful for your arrival,” she replied, seeing Jon and Daenerys coming from the training yard. “Lord Reed, his grace, Jon Snow, the King in the North and Her Grace, Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, Ruler of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men.” Then, almost comically, she added, “As well as my sister, Arya Stark.”

“Lord Reed, it is an honor to meet you. Our father spoke often of your battle against Ser Arthur Dayne and the Kingsguard in Dorne,” Jon said Yes, Sansa thought, the battle that was being fought as you were being born.

For his part, Howland Reed said nothing in response to the introduction. He merely stared from Jon to Arya and back again, as if trying to decide who to address first. For some reason, though it did not surprise her, he barely acknowledged the Dragon Queen.

Now Reed acknowledged Daenerys. “Your Grace, Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch, in the Neck.”

“Lord of the Crannogmen, am I correct?” she asked. “My Lord Hand has told me you are unique among the people of Westeros, hard to reach, isolating yourselves for the most part, with a touch of magic.”

“Yes, your Grace. But we have been long faithful to House Stark. Lord Eddard and his siblings were good friends to me,” he told them, nodding to Jon, Arya and Sansa. He seemed to have recovered from his early quiet, now turning to Arya. “Apologies, my lady, but you are near a twin to your dear departed aunt, Lady Lyanna.” Jon shifted from one foot to the next at the mention of his mother, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by Lord Reed. “She was a good and brave woman who came to my defense when I was cruelly set upon long ago.”

His words had Sansa looking towards Daenerys remembering Varys’ statement from the day before. “My lord, you have had a long journey and you must be tired. When you have rested, would you join us for the evening meal? It will be a small group, just the family, but as you were a dear friend to our father, your presence here is special to us.”

“Actually, if I have your permission, I would like to go pay my respects to Lord Stark’s tomb. When I was told of his death, well, it was the first time in many years my emotions overtook me,” Howland admitted. 

Sansa understood him quite clearly. She looked to her brother and sister, getting a silent agreement from the both of them. “Of course, my lord. You do great honor to the memory of our father. Please, take as much time as you need.”

“Thank you, your graces, my ladies,” he replied. But before he walked towards the crypts, he had one last request for them. “When it is convenient for you, Lady Sansa, Lady Arya, King Jon, I would like to speak to you about the time I proudly rode beside your father near the end of the rebellion.”

They all knew, of course, what he was talking about--Dorne and all that had led up to that critical event in their family’s history. Jon, as he had lately, looked uncomfortable with the implication of the man’s words, but Sansa knew, eventually, her brother was going to have to come to terms with who he truly was. “It will be a pleasure for us if you were able to tell us about our father in his youth. Shall we come look for you when we are available?”

“Yes, my lady. I believe I shall be amongst the past for a while, so the crypts might be the best place to find me. If there is any change, I will send one of my men to tell you where I am,” Lord Reed told them. “Oh, and I would like to express my gratitude to your brother, Lord Bran. Can you see if he is able to join our talk?”

Again, Sansa nodded, and the man left. Her brother and sister turned to her. “He means to tell us about what really happened in Dorne,” Jon reasoned. “You know I don’t--”

“Yes, but if we are to even begin to deal with the truth,” Sansa began, “and we must, Lord Reed is likely to know much of your history. Lord Varys made mention, after both of you left the Great Hall after Bran’s declaration, about the Knight of the Laughing Tree. He seems to have an idea as to the identity of the mysterious figure from the story and also has suspicions as to how it may tie into Aunt Lyanna.”

Jon didn’t look happy with her reasoning, but agreed. “But no one else is to know outside of who was present when Bran told us. I am not sure how it will be received by the other Northern Lords and keeping them here is more important than who sits on the Iron Throne.” He glanced at Daenerys before stalking off in the direction of the godswood. 

For a moment, Sansa saw Daenerys’ face at the mention of the Iron Throne. She knew the queen still had not ended her quest to regain it, but now there was the added complication of Jon’s birth. He was the son of the crown prince and, as such, was heir before she was. “Your Grace, I am sure my brother…”

“No, he is correct. There are more important matters than a seat hundred of leagues to the south.” She looked down, then away. “If you will excuse me, my lady, but I feel I must take counsel with my advisors, inform them that Lord Reed has arrived. As you said, Varys was quite interested in hearing from him on matters of history. I am sure he will want to speak with the man after he has spoken to you.” Without another word, Daenerys left Sansa and Arya alone.

Arya turned to her sister. “Do you want to try and talk to him, or shall I?” she asked, an eyebrow raised with the question.

“Let me. I’ve had more experience with his brooding of late than you.” Sending Arya an unhappy smile, Sansa left her sister behind, off to search for Jon within the sacred space of the godswood. Upon entering it, she was comforted by the atmosphere of the place. It held so many conflicting feels for her. At once a peaceful, holy place and yet also tainted by the villains she had been forced to deal with of late. A shiver ran up her spine at the thought of Littlefinger, closing the distance between them, as he laid out his grand scheme to her. No, she did not want to think about that now.

As expected, Jon was seated under the heart tree, Longclaw balanced on his knees, being sharpened. He truly took after his mother, looking almost exactly as Ned Stark had when she would find him there. 

He must have heard her approach, because he looked up. “I don’t want it, you know that. Daenerys should know that as well. I’ve never wanted for anything of the sort.”

“You always wanted to be a Stark,” she said. “To have Father ask the King for permission to bless you with his name, remove Snow once and for all.” She saw the irony of that wish now. “Perhaps it was best Father never pushed the issue, Jaehaerys.”

While the last words out of her mouth were meant in a jesting tone, Jon didn’t seem to see them that way. “I cannot think of myself as anything other than Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell,” he admitted, though she knew it already. “Tyrion once told me to wear the mark like armour and it would never be used to harm me. I did that and it worked. And now, to think it all a lie…”

Without saying anything, Sansa sat herself down next to him, taking his hand in hers. “I often wondered, when we won back Winterfell, why it fit you so well, the mantle of leadership. You were an inspiration to your troops--”

“I nearly got them all killed,” he reminded her. “You were our savior in the battle.”

“--not just here,” she continued, annoyed by the interruption, “but Tormund and Sam have said similar things about you when you were fighting against the Wildings and the wights. You were humble in command, and I remember someone offering a matchup with Ramsey. Something about questioning if his men would fight for him if he wasn’t willing to fight for them, was it?”

For some reason, Jon let out a short laugh. “It wasn’t really a battle of the bastards when you think about it, was it?” He turned to her, a strange smile on his face. “He was recognized as Roose Bolton’s legitimate son, and I, it turned out, never was a bastard.”

For a moment, Sansa shared in the joke. She knew Ramsey had only been made a Bolton since there were no more trueborn sons, except for the newborn he had slaughtered shortly after birth. Maester Wolkan had told her about that when they had won the battle, that he set his hounds on Lady Walda and her son. “You are right, it is a misnomer.” But then she grew serious. “But I did see something in you, something more than Jon Snow. “

“And that was what she feared,” Jon said vaguely. Sansa gave him a confused look, which he answered with, “Lady Catelyn. She was always afraid that I could become more than a Snow and that I would use that and take from Robb, you and the others.”

“She was wrong,” Sansa stated firmly. With all that had come to light, she wished, more than ever, that he mother was still alive.

That made her replay everything they had learned in her head, and how it impacted most on her parents. It still shocked her, what Bran had told them about who Jon truly was, and the lengths her father had gone through to protect his nephew from what would have assuredly been a short life, if anyone had learned the truth. Eddard Stark had lived in the shame of fathering a bastard, forcing his wife to live with the proof of that dishonor everyday for sixteen years. The Tully words were “Family, Duty, Honor”. Catelyn Stark had spent almost all of her marriage thinking her husband had thrown all three aside for Jon, when, in fact, he was the living embodiment of each of them.

And Mother. She had scorned this boy, an orphan in truth, and Sansa went along with her. She could only imagine her mother’s reaction to the revelations they had just learned of. All those years of hatred...for nothing.

Once again she wished there was some magical way for both of them to live again. But that was another silly fantasy. There was a reality to deal with now, questions that needed to be answered. And Lord Howland Reed had those answers. “Come, Lord Reed is probably still in the crypts and he has tales to tell. It’s time for us to hear them.” She stood and held her hand to Jon. He hesitated, making Sansa realize something. “You haven’t been down there since you learned about her.”

“I haven’t been down there since I threatened to kill Baelish before I left,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders. Then with a reluctant sigh, Jon took her hand to help him up and joined her.

By the time they returned to the entrance to the crypt, Arya was waiting, with Bran, with Nymeria and Ghost standing at each side of the doorway, probably to guard against any unwanted snoops from following. Since their brother had returned, they had figured out a way for his wheeled chair to make it down the stairs with a little help. When they all finally reached the bottom of the stairs, they found Reed staring at Lyanna’s statue.

He must have heard their footfalls, because as they drew closer, he turned towards them. “You grace, my ladies, Lord Bran,” he said, nodding to each. 

“Lord Reed, you said you had things to tell us,” Jon said.

“He wishes to tell us what really happened at the Tower of Joy,” Bran said, as calm as ever.

“Aye, that, but Dorne is the end of the story. The beginning was almost two years before, at the grand Tourney at Harrenhal.” He peaked over his shoulder to Aunt Lyanna again, a smile on his face. “I had just become Lord of Greywater Watch when all nobles, great and small, were invited by Prince Rhaegar himself. There was word, and it even reached us in the swamps, that there was a duel purpose for it, but no idea what it could be. Well, I decided to attend, make the presence of my people known. But, the day the tourney opened, as I walked amongst the camps, I was set upon by the squires of three lords. One was a Frey,” at the mention of the name, Arya’s expression grew stormy, “but, truth be told, I don’t really remember the other two. Well, as I was being beaten and mocked, I heard someone call out my attackers and just as suddenly as it began, it ended with the trio run off. I uncovered my eyes and who do I see before me, but your aunt, Lady Lyanna Stark.”

That made Arya smile brightly. “She fought off all three attackers?” Her sister seemed impressed.

“All three,” Howland confirmed. “And as she was bringing me to the Stark encampment, she asked me why I came. It is generally understood, as her grace, Queen Daenerys pointed out, that my people normally stay isolated.”

“And what did you tell her?” Sansa asked, just a intrigued as Arya.

“I told her I came to hear a song, one so ancient, the gods themselves learned it when they were young. The song of ice and fire.”

“You have the greensight too,” Bran said, “like Jojen.”

Reed nodded. “Yes, but not as strongly as my son did. What I am allowed to see are like silhouettes on a screen. I can see the action, but the people are not themselves revealed. I knew this was a moment of great importance for us as a kingdom, but not exactly why.” Now he turned to Jon. “It wasn’t until the next day that the picture became clearer.”

“Lyanna was an excellent jouster, did you know that? She rode a horse like she was born to it. And the next day, when there was a jousting competition, the knights of those three squires were faced with the same competitor. The knight wore mismatched armour and carried a shield with a laughing tree on it. And each of these knights lost to the mysterious competitor.”

“It was Aunt Lyanna,” Sansa said in awe. “Lord Varys was right.”

Nodding, Reed continued. “The knight asked for no prize but a vow from each of the men he defeated that they teach their squires something of honor. Then, just as the knight appeared, he disappeared.”

“King Aerys thought the knight a threat to him, right?” Jon asked. It had been one of the boys’ favorites when they were children, she remembered. Old Nan would tell it to all of them until it had driven her crazy.

“Yes, he did. He was in the midst of the madness that would claim him, so he saw shadows from every corner. He ordered his Kingsguard, the gathered lords and knights, everyone there to find and bring this would be usurper’s head. But the Knight of the Laughing Tree was never to be seen again.”

“The next day, on the final day of the tourney, there was the tilts of the prince against a number of knights. Rhaegar won all of them and, given the honor of crowning the queen of love and beauty, presented a crown of blue roses to Lyanna.” Howland looked proudly.

Sansa stepped closer to her aunt’s effigy, examining it more than she ever had. It was always said that Lyanna was a great beauty, so great, it started a war over her. Now, though, the knew it was all needlessly, it turned out, the once scattered pieces coming together. For, as they now knew, Lyanna Stark, the She-Wolf of Winterfell, hadn’t been kidnapped or raped. She had gone willingly, deeply in love, as Sansa’s childhood dreams told.

“I spoke with her after it was over, after everyone recovered from their shock. She told me that Rhaegar and Ser Arthur Dayne discovered her trying to take off the armour. She was frightened when she was discovered, but Rhaegar assured her he had no intention of revealing her secret. As she held the roses the next day, she knew it was his way of awarding her a prize for her tilts.”

“And it was from there they fell in love,” Sansa ended the story. A younger Sansa would have yearned for such a tale. All her life, Sansa Stark had been in love with the concept of a handsome prince sweeping off a noble lady off her feet and marrying her, taking her to live in a gleaming castle, happily ever after. Never had she been prepared for the idea that it was a mere dream, that life did not work that way. First with Joffrey, then with Ramsey did she learn those hard lessons, which were only reinforced by the stories that swirled around Winterfell about her own blood, her Aunt Lyanna, kidnapped and raped by such a fairy tale prince. 

But at least once, it was true, that such a love match had occured. A handsome prince had, with gallantry and bravery, fallen in love with a maiden fair, attracted not just by her beauty, but her own courage, her determination to stand up for those who could not on their own.

Her thoughts finished, she turned to Howland. “Yes, they did. Over the course of the next year, as far as your father could determine, they exchanged letters on all kinds of subjects, but most especially on a prophecy for the future. They both were convinced, it seems, that they had a part to play in the battle we now face, that they would have a child who would lead the Army of the Dawn. So, they decided to run off together. After Rhaegar had obtained an annulment, they were wed and eventually, had this prince that was promised,” Reed concluded, nodding his head to Jon.

For his part, her brother was trying to look everywhere but at Reed, his siblings or his mother’s statue. He asked no questions, made no comment.

It was Arya who wanted an answer. “And how do you know all of this, that happened in the end? How did you know of the exchange of letters, the prophecies they discussed?”

Now Lord Reed called out Jon. “Your grace, if I can have your permission and ask for some help.” He waved to the sarcophagus. “When your father buried her bones, he also placed in her grave a box containing all the letters they wrote. There is also the marriage document, signed by the HIgh Septon and the annulment decree.”

Wordlessly, Jon helped him, with Arya jumping in. Between the three of them, they lifted the lid and Sansa came alongside it, finding a fairly large box, carved in weirwood with brass hinges and fixtures with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. She lifted it with some effort and the crypt was closed once more.

With the box laid on the ground closer to Bran, Lord Reed produced a key. “Lord Eddard gave me this key for safekeeping. I have kept in on my person every day since we buried this box and your mother’s bones.” He handed it to Jon. “Now, I fulfill my vow to Lord Stark, and present you with your means to recapture your identity, your grace, Jaehaerys, Third of your Name.” With a final bow, he left the Stark siblings alone, with the box and their ancestors.

“Are you going to open it?” Arya asked Jon after a prolonged silence, more calmly than Sansa would have expected. When he gave her a sad look, she continued. “You must. If not to ease your mind, brother, than to learn the truth.”

“What more is there to learn? No matter how Lord Reed paints the picture, my parents started a war, all for their love.” He looked down at the box again with fear, as if it were wildfire.

“No, not their love, brother,” Bran replied. “It was a lie, a series of lie, that caused the war. They were fed by the ambitions of men, opportunists who seized upon the ladder of chaos that was created.”

“No matter what, it cost hundreds of thousands of lives,” Jon shot back.

“We cannot change the past,” Sansa told him. “But if we are to defend the future, we must learn how it was we got here. Lord Reed said this prophecy of Rhaegar’s speaks of the coming war against the Night King. You should have Bran and Sam look into it.”

At least Jon seemed to agree with her about that. “The remaining forces from Dragonstone bring with them a gift from Daenerys. She knows of the destruction of Winterfell by the Boltons, of how many books we lost.”

“The Library is virtually gone,” Arya said.

“Aye. Daenerys is giving us a substantial part of her family’s library. I guess it’s possible there is something within those books that can help us,” Jon agreed. “When they arrive, I will see to it that you and Sam get them as soon as possible. You can start looking for something within them.”

“I’ve been speaking with some of the other lords. Many said they have spoken with Daenerys directly or Tyrion. They are at least putting them at ease about her forces,” Sansa reported. “And with the lifting of some of the weather the last day, they should be arriving soon?” At that, Jon nodded. “I should continue to see to arrangements.”

“I’ve been working with training the young people, so I should continue with that,” Arya said.

All three stayed quiet, watching Jon eye the box at his feet. “You must discover what there is in this box,” Sansa said, hoping to get through his thick skull.

At last, her brother hefted the box, holding it as if it were a fragile thing. He smirked at Sansa. “It’s nice to see you acting more like yourself, ordering everyone around,” he said as he walked past them and out of the crypt.

“I have to agree with him about that.” Arya raised an eyebrow as she turned to address Sansa. “Are we really sure that this is a good idea? He’s not taking any of this well at all. He didn’t even glance at Aunt Lyanna’s statue.”

“He must be ready,” replied Bran. “He is part of the prophecy, the prince that was promised. He and Daenerys Targaryen.”

Sansa took a deep breath. She had no answer to give her sister, no comment to make to her brother. But she sent up a silent prayer, to the Old Gods and the New, that Jon accept what had gone before, if there was to be a hope for the future.


	7. Jaime I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Tyrion catch up. Later, Jaime is forgiven of a crime, but not by everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, and better than ever. Sorry for the delay, but I finally caught up with my writing and have gotten it managed to a decent schedule. If you like my stories, at least for the next few weeks, you will be treated to a new chapter of each of my stories, Friday through Sunday.
> 
> As always, I love to hear from my readers, so drop a comment.

“So, tell me, big brother,” Tyrion said, “How is it you are still alive here at Winterfell, before me and without anyone to speak for you?”

Jaime realized he hadn’t seen much of Tyrion since his brother had arrived in the North a few days ago when he noticed his brother approach the table he was at in the Great Hall. Of course, as Hand of the Queen, he knew how busy he must have been. And considering all that had happened upon his arrival, it was amazing he even had the time now, a point Jaime made to him.

“Her Grace had only one relative when she was growing up,” the younger man began. “And from all account, he would have gotten on well with Joffrey. She knows the long road I have traveled, for most of it with little love and support from my family.” Then he smiled, a look he only seemed to wear when in Jaime’s presence. “She does not begrudge me an afternoon with you.” With that, he pulled out a wineskin and offered him the first sip. “Now, tell me everything. I have had very few good conversationalists since I left Westeros, and fewer still upon my return.”

Now Jaime smiled. “I never knew you regard me in such a way. I thought you thought I was only good for my muscles.”

“No, that was Cersei,” Tyrion replied. “Well, that and...other things.” Jaime grimaced at the thought of his twin, a look that was noticed. “Sorry, old habit.”

“No need to apologize. It wasn’t as if it was unknown to all of Westeros. Well, all but Robert and Father.” At that, Tyrion’s mouth fell open, but it wasn’t something Jaime wanted to get into. Any thought of their father was still an opened wound between them. “Anyway, after my life was put in peril, but allowed to leave alive, I met up with Bronn. We had made preliminary plans to ride north together before it all went to shit, but I saw no reason to not keep to the plan.” Jaime took another gulp from the skin, then handed it back to Tyrion. “Needless to say, Bronn was not happy with the altered arrangements.”

“My exact words to him actually were, ‘this is a stupid fucking plan, it will get you killed’.” a third voice joined in.

Jaime smirked. “No, your exact words were, ‘this is a stupid fucking plan, it will us killed’. But still, you came along.” 

“Figured I was the only one who could speak up for you with the Starks, since we’d be chancing getting here first,” Bronn commented with a shrug of his shoulders.

“And as it happened, though it was winter, the weather was mild, which helped a great deal in getting here first.”

Tyrion shook his head. “Yes, but with everything our families have through, usually at each other’s throats, they just let you walk in?”

“Well, part of that was because of that young lord, Bran is his name? But also, some of it was me fast-talking the lady of the house.” Now Bronn stole the skin from Tyrion, taking a swig from it. “Sansa seemed to have fond memories for you,” he motioned to Tyrion, “enough to extend guest right to us. But the little one--she frightens even me. Kept giving Jaime here the evil eye.”

“I told her the truth, that Cersei betrayed us after the meeting in the Dragonpit, and Bran, his eyes went white for a minute. But when whatever it was passed, he confirmed what we were saying. Repeated our conversation back word for word,” Jaime said as he remembered the last time in Cersei’s presence.

“Said Cersei heard out, but didn’t yet accept, a marriage proposal from Euron Greyjoy,” Bronn added. “Even threw in some...uncomfortable exchanges between your brother and the Ironborn cunt.”

“Cersei, marry Euron Greyjoy! Ha! Like that will ever happen,” his brother laughed. “Yara told us he had a similar plan he was going to bring to Daenerys, but we all knew how it would end, should he get that far. And you are right--he is a madman to think Cersei will ever share power with him.”

“Yes, well, when it was last mentioned, she was still acted as if she was considering the offer in front of him, fool that he is,” he muttered in agreement. 

There was a moment of silence before Tyrion gazed at him with those mismatched eyes of his. “And the child? Does the ‘King of the Iron Islands’ know she is with child?”

“I’m not sure. I’m not sure if she is even pregnant,” Jaime replied.

“You don’t believe her?”

That brought a humorless laugh from Jaime. “If you haven’t noticed yet, dear brother, our sister has always been a master manipulator.” He grabbed the wineskin and took a sip before going on. “When I returned for the Riverlands, they were holding her coronation. And when she sat on the throne and looked to me, I saw a stranger and she knew it. She knew I was, at last, seeing her for what she was. So, rather conveniently, after another...time together, one a handmaiden saw me still in bed after, and with the readied diagnosis of her sycophant, Qyburn, yes, I think there are enough reasons for me to doubt.”

“And added to the fact that I walked right into her trap of thinking that her motherly instincts may actually give her pause and open her to a detente, I can see your point,” Tyrion agreed. “I did not think she would stoop so low as to fake a pregnancy, however.”

“She will use anything in her hands to get what she wants. She used an ultra-orthodox, itinerant Septon to bring down Margaery Tyrell, and then he turned on her. She used Ned Stark’s honor to bring him to the executioner’s block. Hells, Tyrion, she used her son’s murder to finally find a reason to have you killed.” Jaime shook his head. “Somewhere inside her, she knew you had nothing to do with it. Sansa was a more likely suspect, but you were right, she’s not a killer--” Something about that made Tyrion laugh. Jaime scrunched his face at the reaction. “Unless that changed.”

A cruel yet prideful smile crossed his lips. “Roose Bolton and Petyr Baelish betrayed the Lannisters. Instead of having her brought to King’s Landing, she was married off to Bolton’s legitimized son, Ramsey. And the best way to describe the lad would have been, he and Joffrey would have been swell friends.” The mere thought of another monster like his firstborn turned Jaime’s stomach. “She eventually escaped, made her way to Castle Black, thanks to your friend, Lady Brienne of Tarth, and from there, she and Jon plotted a way to retake Winterfell. When they did, after Jon Snow had sufficiently been the shit out of Ramsey, Sansa decreed that, as his hounds had been purposely starved by their master, they should be given a hearty slab of meat.”

Bronn looked perplexed by Tyrion’s words. “The redhead? Sounds more like the little one.”

Jaime wasn’t sure if he should be pleased or horrified by the condemnation of the Bolton bastard. But any thought of that ended when he saw the door to the Great Hall open, and a man step inside. He recognized the sigil as that of House Reed, meaning the man could only be Lord Howland Reed, an ally and friend of Eddard Stark’s.

And the only other man to survive the confrontation at the so-called Tower of Joy.

“Excuse me,” Jaime said, not giving his brother another look as he walked to Reed. For his part, the older man didn’t seem to notice Jaime until they were standing right next to each other. Then, Jaime made the introduction “Lord Howland Reed?”

Reed turned as eyed up Jaime. “Ser Jaime Lannister,” he replied. “Didn’t think to find you here. You stand with us?” He wasn’t sounding welcoming, but there was little overt hostility in his voice.

“I was at the parley in King’s Landing, when their graces met with Queen Cersei,” he answered, trying to keep his words as formal as possible. “I swore I would come north and fight with them.”

“There is still honor in you then?” He knew the next word out of the man’s mouth should have been kingslayer, but it never came.

“I do still keep my vow, Lord Reed,” Jaime replied, spotting Brienne entering the room. “I swore that Ned Stark’s daughters would be returned safely to their home. I may not have seen it through, but I was helped in the endeavor.”

There was no response forthcoming until Reed said, “Then I look forward to seeing you at my side in the coming battles. I know you were trained by the Sword of the Morning. I have high expectations for you, lad.” He nodded to Jaime once more before moving off with his men, leaving Jaime unable to ask that was on the tip of his tongue.

He went back to the table with Tyrion who had watched him the entire time he was speaking with Reed. “Howland Reed. Didn’t he return from Dorne with Ned Stark?”

Jaime nodded. “He witnessed Stark defeat Ser Arthur Dayne.” But he knew Dayne, knew how good he was with a sword. Stark was good, but nowhere near Arthur’s skill. It had never made sense to Jaime, how Ned Stark could have defeated and killed his mentor. It was yet another unanswered question in the miasma that swirled around the end of the rebellion.

Without another word, he left the hall. He didn’t know where he was going until he saw Bran Stark being wheeled by his sister Arya.

The young man possessed a remarkable gift. Jaime believed in it, he really did. He could See through time. But after remembering Arthur Dayne, of the honor he had instilled in the young man he had knighted, he was sick to his stomach.

No matter what, Jaime Lannister never lost a night’s sleep over killing Aerys. He hated the moniker of Kingslayer, yes, but by that time, in Jaime’s mind, the man was no longer a king. He had become too brutal and enjoyed that brutality too much to be given the respect due to a monarch. No, what brought the greatest shame to Jaime was what he did to young Bran Stark.

He stood there a few minutes after watching Arya deposit him in a room until the young woman left. Jaime knew he would have to confront his past at some point, and now, he thought the time had come. He walked up to the door, but before he could knock, he heard Bran say, “Come in, Ser Jaime.”

Despite all he knew about Bran and his powers, it still surprised him that his presence was known without being seen. But he supposed omniscience meant for everything. With trepidation, he went in. “Since you knew I was here, I’m also guessing you know why I want to speak to you.”

“You want to know if I remember who caused my accident,” he replied, not even looking to Jaime. “I have no memory of even falling. I tried for so long to remember, but at times the memory was taken from me.” Then he turned to look at Jaime. “But as my powers grew, I was able to relive that moment, to See it.”

If there was any moment to await with bated breath, it was this one. “So you do…”

“You said, ‘the things I do for love’. You said it to Cersei after I saw the two of you together.” He turned back to the fire he had been staring at when Jaime stepped into the room. “You pushed me. It is because of you I am like this.”

Jaime closed his eyes, fearing that his life would end when the rest of the Starks learned the truth. “I know, there is nothing I can say to you that will take back my actions…”

“You did not hear me, Ser Jaime. It is because of you I am this person. If I had not fallen, my life would have taken a different direction. I would have sought to become a knight, maybe even a member of the Kingsguard. But that was not where I was needed.” Now, an eerie serenity took over his face. “We are what we are, where we are, for a reason. As much as it brought our house to war, you pushing me was needed, for me to become the Three-Eyed Raven.”

Was he being forgiven? It seemed impossible that Bran Stark had just absolved him of his greatest crime. “I can’t...let you do this. I don’t deserve it.”

“You are not the same man you were when you were here last, Ser Jaime. War and death and betrayal have changed you. You do not serve your sister’s whims anymore,” Bran said. “And have no fear. I vow that you have my protection when the truth is revealed.”

Jaime back out, leaving the door open as he got away from the Seer. He ran down corridors, seeking to be anywhere but in Winterfell. At last, he ended up in the Old Tower, the same place he and Cersei had been seen, and where a young boy began a journey to become the magical being he now was.

He walked to the window, looking down to see the height Bran had fallen all those years ago. He hadn’t even thought about that, had never even tried to figure how far of a drop it was. Looking at it now, Jaime found it astonishing he had survived at all. Maybe the Gods are merciful, he thought. Not that he even believed in any gods. That was not the way he had been raised. 

The only thing Jaime Lannister feared as a child was his father. Something about made him smirk. Tywin Lannister had some god-like qualities. Besides being feared, he had the power to dole out life or death, be it to a house in revolt or his own son. His word was often law, to the Westerlands or the Seven Kingdoms as a whole. 

When he turned around, a rush of fear like none other he had felt since his father’s death, came over him. This time, instead of a lion, it was a wolf, teeth bared in every way except visibly. It studied him, its prey as if trying to decide where to attack first. And all that in a petite girl, no older than eight and ten.

“You should be more careful where you have discussions, Ser Jaime,” Arya Stark said, just as calmly as he brother had been earlier. 

He was doing everything possible to tamp down his fear. “You heard.” It was no question, but an assumed fact on his part.

“Heard that it was you that pushed my brother from this tower? Yes.” She approached him, one step after another. “Heard that you were fucking your sister and my ten-year-old brother caught you?” Now she was standing in front of him, his back to the very same window Bran had fallen from. “Yes.” But instead of taking the last steps that would have encroached on him so much, he’d have to climb into the window and possibly fall as well, she moved around him, looking to the ground below.

“You heard all of what Bran said, then I gather?” Jaime asked, praying it was true.

“Heard that he vowed his protection of you, should it be made public?” Now her smile was downright evil, sending chills down his spine. He held his breath waiting for her answer. “Yes.” With that, she backed away to the other side of the room. “Besides, my sister extended you guest right, all really because of your brother. I would never break such a vow of protection. I’ve seen what happened to families that do.”

A conversation flashed in his head, one he had with Cersei months ago. They had been discussing the enemies encircling them and their own lack of allies. He had pointed out that the could only really call the Freys their allies, and they were all dead. “Whoever killed them was no friend of ours,” he told her then. “You killed Walder Frey and his whole family,” he gasped in disbelief. Truth be told, he had avoided Arya Stark after he saw the young woman train and nearly defeat Brienne. There was a look in her eyes that he’d only ever since in Cersei’s--the look of the hunter going in for the kill. But where Cersei was the plotter, Arya was the actor, making her much deadlier.

“I was there, that night, at the Twins. The Hound was going to ransom me back to my mother and brother. By the time we got there, it was too late,” she told him, a hint of the vulnerable girl making an appearance. “I tried to get to them, but he knocked me out and got me away. The next morning, I added many new names to my list.”

Though she didn’t say exactly, he knew her intentions for the people on the list. “And am I now on your list? Now that you know what I did?”

“No,” she answered. “You have the protection of my brother. From what I heard, as strange as it sounded, Bran believes your actions were a necessary evil.”

She was turning to leave when Jaime called her back. “Where did you go?” He felt as though he had no right to ask, so he added, “I made a vow to your mother that I would bring her daughters back to her. I and Lady Brienne, who saw it through. But I would like to know how you eluded everyone--Brienne, myself, my sister. Where did the tide take you?”

She looked down as if contemplating responding or not. “Braavos,” she said at last. “Where I trained with the Faceless Men.”

Now he was getting an idea of how she had managed to poison an entire family. “It was said that after the Freys were dead, Lord Walder removed his face and the young woman who was there instead said, ‘Tell them the North remembers. Tell them winter came for House Frey. You wore his face.”

Now she smiled, not as feral as before, but one that still implied danger. “Best you remember that, Ser Jaime.” She turned to leave once more but had one last thing to say. “Cersei’s name. It is on my list.” Then she was gone.

Despite how he had left things with his sister, he feared for her, because Jaime knew the Little Wolf would remain true to her word.


	8. Jon II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not wanting to deal with the truth, Jon bonds with Gendry and Davos, and later Tyrion, awaiting the remainder of the Essossi forces. When they arrive, he witnesses a family reunion.

Jon wasn’t half wrong. He remembered very clearly the imperious attitude Sansa had even as a young girl. She believed she would rule somewhere, one day, be it a keep or a kingdom. She was to have been a queen, betrothed and all to Joffrey Baratheon, the little shit. He thanked the gods it had never come to pass, was even grateful for the fact that she had been married to Tyrion Lannister. They seemed to be getting on now, as they were both advisors, she to him, Tyrion to Daenerys.

He thought of that all the way to his room carrying the damned box. He didn’t want to look in it, didn’t want to see what was left of his parents. He had spent the past few days being angry at a lot of people. His parents, both dead now and not there to bear the brunt of his feelings. His ‘father’, the man he had grown up with, respected, cherished, now shown as a liar, a traitor really to his best friend. Even Daenerys, though none of what had happened these last few days was remotely her fault. But as he let his anger simmer, he kept coming back to Daenerys. The nights he had spent with her, to closeness they had felt, it still felt wrong in his mind, but his heart said differently. 

By the time he reached his room, he decided he still didn’t want to deal with the lingering questions about him and his aunt.

Nor did he still not want to deal with the box. He didn’t want to deal with it so much, he stared at it for a solid hour. 

It was silly really. It carved out of weirwood, with brass fixtures. But the latch was designed with the three-headed dragon, the sigil of the Targaryens, so he figured it had come from Rhaegar. Still, with great reluctance, he held the key up, ready to test it in the lock when he noticed a silhouette of a direwolf it bore. Makes sense, I guess, if it was theirs, he thought as he put the key in and turned it. He felt the lock release, allowing him to open the top.

What he found insides were bunches of parchments, folded up and bound, some with a grey ribbon, some with a red. More symbolism, as grey was Stark and red was Targaryen. Each of the bunches were fat, holding a dozen letters each. More were bound with the red than the grey. He noted the name of the person who received them. Lyanna of House Targaryen. Nice and formal, as if proving much of what Bran had said. 

Eventually, he divided the batches into two piles, the ones from his mother and the ones from his father. He decided, if he had to read them, he’d start with the ones Lyanna had written. She was the central figure in so much of the past twenty years. Always portrayed as an innocent, cruelly taken away from her family and her betrothed, he felt it was her words he wanted to read first.

But as he went to remove the ribbon, he stopped. Did he really want to do this, did he really want to know the truth? The lie, as painful as it was, had been so easy. He was a bastard, entitled to nothing, not even a name. He could have done as he pleased when he grew, left Westeros where the burden of a bastard name wasn’t so great. But he had chosen to stay, join the honorable Night’s Watch. And he had paid a price for his choice and his name. Alliser Thorne hated him and moreso for who his father was, one of the rebels who overthrew the Targaryen dynasty. Oh, the irony now. What would you say, Ser Alliser, if you knew the truth? 

He left his room, left the bunches of letters strewn across his bed, wanting to be elsewhere. He walked around Winterfell, strategically avoiding places he figured his sisters would be until he found Ser Davos Seaworth talking to another knight from one of the Northern houses, though which one, Jon couldn’t place now. 

Davos must have seen him coming because he excused himself and approached Jon. “Your Grace,” his advisor said. He had never been formally named Hand of the King. Jon didn’t want all the fuss of a court as they had it in the South, and Davos was about as unfussy as a lord as Jon had ever met. “I saw Lord Howland Reed just a little while ago. Has he come to see you?” It was a simple question, but he knew Davos was prodding at something else.

“Aye, I greeted him, with Daenerys, Sansa and Arya,” Jon replied, just glancing before looking around again. He really didn’t want to have Sansa spot him, fearing, for the first time since he was a child, of being sent to his room.

“And?”

“And what?” He had an idea what the older man was getting at but was trying to ignore it.

Davos grimaced, then looked around him, pulling Jon to near the smithy. “After our discussion the day we returned to Winterfell, Lord Varys noted that Lord Reed returned with Ned Stark from Dorne. It is an interesting story, the duel between Ser Arthur Dayne and your father. Did he elaborate on it any further?” He was talking in code, but the message was plainly obvious.

“Ser Davos!” a voice called, saving him from answering the inquiry. Both men looked to see Gendry by the forge, signaling for the Onion Knight. But, upon seeing Jon, he looked a little...frightened, was it Jon saw in the younger man’s eyes.

Frowning at Gendry as they both walked over, he nodded to the blacksmith. “You got news, son?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah...yes, my lord, your grace.” He nodded to both men. “Her Grace stopped by, asked how the production was going, of the swords and arrows of dragonglass. I told her it was going well, after which she told me that we would also need to make arakhs too. But before I could ask what one was, she left, rather suddenly.” His eyes went from one man to the other. “I heard that screech from one of the dragons. She seemed to be heading towards it.”

Jon looked to the sky, searching for Drogon and...Rhaegal was the other’s name? He saw none in the sky as Davos explained. “It’s a weapon favored by the Dothraki. When they arrive, I’ll see to it you’re shown one. It’s a good idea for them to have weapons of dragonglass as well.”

Jon heard a faint agreement from Gendry as he turned his attention away from the sky. He saw two bright blue eyes staring at him. “Is there something else, Gendry?”

“No, nothing. Well…” He was now looking all over the forges, purposely trying to avoid Jon’s presence. “When Arya went looking for you, we were talking and I told her about meeting you at Dragonstone. Told her Davos wanted me to tell you an alias, but I came right out and said I was Robert Baratheon’s bastard. I thought since our fathers’ were friends, I should be honest with you. Now, with, well…” He looked around, probably making sure no one overheard him. In the end, though, he merely said, “Guess I was off the mark there.”

Jon didn’t know what to make of the young man’s words. Of course, he knew the stories of the rebellion. It was Robert and his warhammer that killed the crown prince. It was the prince who allegedly kidnapped Robert’s betrothed. Now, with the earth-shattering revelation, who their fathers were was significantly different. The lad probably feared Jon, feared Robert’s killing of Rhaegar would change how Jon felt about him.

“It means little to me. He was as much a father to me as Robert Baratheon was to you.” Which meant to say, little but the man who provided the seed. “I’m more interested in your relationship with my sister.”

Now Gendry’s eyes grew wide, making Jon chuckle. He hadn’t meant it to come out as harsh as it had. From all he could tell, Gendry was about as far from a Joffrey Baratheon or Ramsay Bolton as you could get. All the same, he was enjoying playing the overprotective big brother, putting a scare into a potential suitor, especially for the particular sister. “I found a spot as a kid where I could grab an ale and hide with my brother Robb. Might be a good idea we get to know each other.” Gendry began to mutter nonsensically with fear. Jon thought it a good idea to throw him a bone. “Ser Davos, would you like to join us?”

Davos smiled as he looked between the two men. “Most kind, your grace. Tell me where this spot is and I’ll grab the drinks.”

It was a few minutes later when the three were gathered at the Hunter’s Gate. Davos had gotten the ales, which both he and Gendry accepted. Before taking a drink, though, Jon opened the discussion. “So, Arya. King’s Landing. Tell me about it.”

Gendry drank nearly half the horn before answering. “Like was said, we escaped King’s Landing together. We were headed north--me to the Wall, Arya back to Winterfell. Her hair was short, her clothes dirty, mostly intentional. But I knew she wasn’t a boy.” 

Jon took that in only raised an eyebrow at first. “How’d you know that?”

Now the blacksmith blushed. He muttered something, but seeing Jon’s look, answered, “No cock to piss with--not that I was looking! Just, well, I’d see her go off…” Seeing the man’s discomfort, Jon couldn’t keep it up any longer. He laughed, heartily, the first laugh he heard from himself in a long time. He saw Davos join in, causing the blush to deepen. “Bloody hells.”

“No, it’s alright. Go on,” Jon encouraged him. Gendry looked unsure, out of fear or embarrassment, he couldn’t say.

“I mentioned I had been visited by both Hands of the King, Lord Arryn, and Lord Stark. That was when she told me she was Arya of House Stark,” he explained. “Now I was embarrassed for the way I’d spoken in from of her, seeing as she was highborn, a lady. Told her I’d have to start calling her ‘milady’.”

“Bet she didn’t like that,” Jon interrupted, knowing his sister so well.

“She did not,” Gendry agreed. He took another sip of the ale as he continued. “We were ambushed by the goldcloaks and she thought they were after her.”

“But it was you they were after,” Davos surmised.

Gendry nodded. “Lord Varys told Arya and me when we went looking for you, your grace,” he nodded in Jon’s direction, “that he’d gotten me the apprenticeship with Tobho Mott and when he heard the king had ordered all of my father’s bastards killed, told Tobho who practically pushed me out of the city with a recruiter for the Night’s Watch.”

Jon smiled at his last sentence. If things had gone differently… “We’d have been brother, you and I if you made it to the Wall,” he told Gendry.

Gendry said nothing in reply to that statement. “But, like I said, the goldcloaks, well they killed a few of us. When they rounded the rest of us up, they asked which one was Gendry. Arya, she identified one of the dead as the boy they were looking for. She saved my life.”

“She was always quick like that,” Jon said. “And it saved your life?”

“For the moment. We were taken to Harrenhal where they were torturing people looking for the Brotherhood Without Banners,” he said. “Were about to torture me when Tywin Lannister rode in and saved my ass that time.”

“Tywin Lannister? Didn’t know the Old Lion had such a heart,” Davos japed. “You should tell his sons, I think it’d amaze them, especially Lord Tyrion.”

Gendry nodded. “I’ll do that, thank you.” Obviously, to Jon, Gendry may have been good with a hammer, but geopolitics was somewhat behind him. Even his advisor threw him a look. “Lord Tywin ordered that the men at Harrenhal be put to work, so it was back to the forges for me. With Arya, he also figured out she was a girl and made her his cupbearer.”

Now Jon was surprised. “Tywin Lannister had my sister as his cupbearer? Did he know…?”

Gendry smiled widely, shaking his head. “The old man never realized it. Knew she wasn’t smallfolk, but never knew he had a Stark in his presence.” Thank the gods for that! Jon thought. “Anyway, we eventually escaped and ran into the Brotherhood--Ser Beric and Thoros.”

Jon nodded, having heard something of it at Eastwatch. From the sound of it, it hadn’t ended well. “You were sold or something. I heard you whingeing about it when we were North of the Wall.”

That got Jon an annoyed look, but no comment. “They sold me to a Red Witch who was at Stannis’ side. She took my blood with leeches and would have sacrificed me, but Davos broke me out the dungeon and put my ass back on a boat towards King’s Landing. That was where he found me a few months ago.”

“Red Witch? The Lady Melisandre?” Jon glanced at Davos and got his answer. The woman’s very name turned the man’s normally jovial features red with anger. He, though, on the subject of her, was divided. She had resurrected him after the mutiny but she had still killed the Princess Shireen in order to secure a victory for Stannis Baratheon. One, that sadly, was a failure. Gendry nodded his confirmation. “Then what happened to Arya after that?”

“Don’t know, but I think that big guy may know. Clegane? The Brotherhood captured him when we were with them,” Gendry said.

Jon nodded. “Thank you. It’s more information than I’ve gotten from Arya. Sansa said something about her having traveled to Braavos, trained with the Faceless Men. But I will have a word with the Hound.” With that and emptying his horn, he stood up, ready to leave the blacksmith to go about his business. However, there was one last matter he hadn’t dealt with. “And Arya? What are your intentions to her? What are your feelings?”

“Me?” The panic returned to Gendry’s face. “No intentions, your grace. We were friends, we…” He took a deep breath before he said his next piece. “She had said if I stayed with her, we’d be family. But that’s not right. She couldn’t be my family, but she would be milady.”

There was so much about Gendry that reminded Jon of himself. A bastard, looking no higher than he believed him able to be. Honest and loyal. “Don’t sell yourself short, Gendry. Times are changing. Maybe we should change our perception of people, no matter their birth. And no more ‘your grace’. Just call me Jon. We’re cousins after all.”

With that, he departed, Davos a step or two behind him, with Gendry rooted in his spot. He would probably need to recover from the whole encounter. “He’s a good lad, your grace,” Davos said when they were back in the training yard. 

“Aye, he is. It’s just...unsettling,” Jon admitted. When he saw the look Davos tossed him, he went on. “The last time I saw my sister before we returned to Winterfell, I’d just gifted her with her sword and she had expressed no interest in boys. Now she’s a woman grown, a fierce warrior if Sansa and the Lady Brienne are to be believed, and is sweet on that young man. Didn’t think any of this would ever be my concern, dealing with suitors for my sisters.”

The gleam in the older man’s eyes was unmistakable. “Sisters, your grace? Has one come calling on the Lady of Winterfell as well?”

As if to answer, Lord Tyrion walked over their way. “Your Grace, Queen Daenerys wished for me to inform you, she flew with Drogon a little while ago. It seems he spotted the remainder of our forces and she went to lead them the rest of the way. I have already informed Lady Sansa to gather in a while to meet them.”

Now he smirked at the dwarf. He knew, of course, he and Sansa had been working closely with each other of late and that Sansa was opposed to being in the company of her former husband. He just wasn’t sure Tyrion knew he knew. Quickly his lips formed a straight line. “Thank you, my Lord. Sansa has told me of the accommodations she was arranging for the Dothraki and Unsullied. Am I correct in guessing they will be in need of more Northern appropriate attire?”

For a moment, Tyrion looked as though he’d picked up on Jon’s look upon finding them, but it was quickly dismissed. “I’m sure we will be informed if need be. But the Unsullied tend to not concern themselves with comforts and the Dothraki, well, let’s just say, the queen wishes for me to assure you they will not cause any problems that I am sure may arise.”

Jon nodded. “Good.” He turned to Davos. “See if we can have supplies ready for them upon arrival. I’ll see if Daenerys has a representative from the Dothraki who can work with the blacksmiths on those arakhs Gendry mentioned.”

“On it, your grace, my lord.” Davos nodded and hurried along, leaving Jon and Tyrion alone.

“It may be a few hours. Let’s have a drink and...talk about the weather while we wait for the queen,” Tyrion suggested. Then, without a word, he headed in the direction of the Great Keep, and Jon’s solar, the King in the North merely following him Once Tyrion was settled with his goblet, Jon saw the Hand studying him.

“Something on your mind, my lord?” Jon asked.

“I’ve been wondering for quite some time, how was the armor?” he asked finally.

Jon didn’t understand the question. “The armor?”

“Of being a bastard,” Tyrion said. “Did it protect you? Was that how you were so often thought of when you were on the Wall?”

Jon hadn’t thought about that in a while. It had, quite literally, been another life. And Tyrion hadn’t been wrong, it was thrown back at him, mostly by Alliser Thorne. He chuckled, thinking about the fucker for the second time today. When Lannister raised an eyebrow at him, he explained. “I was thinking of Thorne today, with regard to everything that’s happened,” he said.

“Thorne fought at the walls of King’s Landing, took the Black to save himself from execution,” Tyrion told him. “He was a great supporter of Rhaegar’s but after it was over--”

“He was bitter,” Jon finished. “He led the mutiny against me when I was Lord Commander. I hanged him for it.” Now Jon took a sip from his cup. “The armor grew strong, over time. Took a while though.”

“It often does,” Tyrion replied. “And it seems as if was all for nothing.” His eyes went wide for a moment, a smile flashing on his face. “You should talk to my brother. He looked up to Rhaegar, put his hopes in the prince like everyone else.”

That made Jon think of the letters scattered on his bed. He knew there were still people alive, here, in fact, that knew Prince Rhaegar well. He did think to ask them at some point, but, again, he was saved from confronting his past. He and Tyrion heard a horn sound, signaling an approach on Winterfell.

“And they have arrived!” the Hand of the Queen announced unnecessarily. He was about to leave the solar when he asked Jon one last question. “Have you heard from Lady Mormont about the fate of her cousin? I know from personal experience, family reunions between adversarial members can have bloody endings.”

That just made Jon frown as he hurried to greet the new arrivals. Lyanna Mormont still hadn’t given he or Sansa an answer on the fate of Ser Jorah Mormont. He had done his level best to advocate for the man but remembered when it was not his words that won her to their cause.

But when he stepped into the courtyard, he saw, besides the various Dothraki warriors, Grey Worm and Missandei, was Ser Jorah Mormont, bent at the waist, his arms loose around Lady Lyanna, whose had her eyes closed and a tight grip on her older cousin.

It heartened Jon to see another family, long separated, at last, reunited.


	9. Daenerys II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys reconnects with different parts of her family--her distant cousin, who's a little scared of her; her father figure, returned to her yet unsure of his place in his own family; her brother, long dead, but alive to her through the letters to his wife; and her nephew, whom she loves.

Daenerys glided through the courtyard into the smithy, looking for one in particular. Finally, she found him, giving direction to men older than he, but probably with less experience in the dragonglass, whilst completing work of his own. He looked nothing like a Targaryen, that was for sure, but there was a way he held himself, a confidence about him that bespoke a whisper of nobility, that it lay somewhere in his blood, under all the soot and dirt from the forge.

When she arrived, Gendry had his back to her, hammering away. “Excuse me?” she called out as loud as she could. He did not seem to hear her, but others noticed her. She tried again. “Gendry Waters?” Still, nothing. At last, with a sly grin on her face, she tried, “Lord Baratheon?”

It didn’t catch his attention, but it did catch everyone else. All the hammering stopped, all eyes either on her or Gendry. He must have sensed something because at last, he turned to her. “Mi-mi-milady! I mean, your Grace! I mean…” He was sputtering, so out of sorts from seeing her standing there. The other blacksmiths were doing just the same, gawking at her, and maybe even at him. He finally noticed it and yelled to the assembled, “Back to work, the lot of you. Every moment sit around gobsmack is a moment a sword or arrowhead isn’t ready for the upcoming battle!” That got the men moving again.

Daenerys looked around, seeing the workers toiling away. “You command them well, Gendry…”

“Just Gendry. Arya like to say ‘Waters’ but since my father never claimed me, I wasn’t even given a bastard name.”

“Did you want a bastard name?” She knew from Jon that it was a mark to be worn the rest of your life, something that set you apart. Not a trueborn child, but not abandoned completely by the father.

“Doesn’t really matter to me either way, your grace,” he muttered, getting back to his task.

“From what Lord Tyrion has told me, the Baratheon line has been extinguished. The Usurper is dead, he had no legitimate children, his brother Stannis is dead and his daughter burned at the stake, and Renly too is dead. And he, well, had other inclinations,” she summed up.

“Not something I think about,” he responded, trying to act nonchalant.

“Ser Davos also told me when he went to the Street of Steel to find you, you were eager to avenge your father, go against a family that tried to kill you.” He stood up straighter at her words, a weary resignation in his posture. “And Lady Arya even made mention of it. A conversation the two of you had a few days ago, was it?”

“She was joking,” he said defensively. “Besides, my father killed your brother, His Grace’s father. You make your disgust with Robert Baratheon evident every time you don’t call him by his name.” Now he turned to face her. “Why make me a lord, the bastard of a man you hate?”

“Because you’ve shown yourself to be an honorable man. You kept Arya’s identity secret when held by the Lannisters, you volunteered to go with Jon beyond the Wall, you came out and revealed your father to Jon.” 

He looked away. “Davos wasn’t too happy with that.”

“Ser Davos is a practical man, who has lost many he’s cared about,” she told him. In fact, Daenerys had come to appreciate Jon’s advisor. He was a good, level head and a fine counterbalance to Tyrion. “I suspect he didn’t want anything befalling you, especially in the presence of your father’s enemy.”

He smiled, then. It lit up his eyes and she saw he was an attractive young man, saw what she believed Arya Stark saw. “I was telling Arya that, now with the truth about who Jon’s father truly is, I may have made another enemy. If Robert Baratheon had not killed Rhaegar Targaryen, it would be a very different world right now.”

“True,” she agreed. It was something she had often speculated about, how different her life could have been, if not for that death. “I may have had some loving family members, not a brother so hells bent on getting his throne, he’d sell his only sister for an army.” She looked at him, gave him a smile. “But, the gods played out our lives this way.”

He said nothing, just turned back to his forge. “Is there a reason you came to see me, milady?”

Sensing the moment had passed, she moved onto the other reason she sought him out. “I know you and the blacksmiths have been making swords and arrowheads and spears. Have you also planned on forging arakhs?”

He looked back at her, his face confused. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what an…”

“Arakh,” she supplied.

“I don’t know what that is,” he finished.

She nodded, figuring that was the case. “It’s a weapon used by the Dothraki, handy in battle on horseback. It may be wise to have those crafted as well. The remainder of my forces should be arriving soon. When they do, I will see that one of my bloodriders comes to show it to you to help your fellow smiths.”

He seemed open to the idea. “That will be much appreciated, your grace.”

“And perhaps at a later date, we could--” she began before hearing a shriek. Daenerys looked skyward, seeing Drogon circling above, seeking her out. Without a glance back, she said, “I will see that it is done, my lord.” Before he could correct her, she was gone.

Daenerys headed out the gates of Winterfell, to the field that Jon had cleared so her children could have space to land. She didn’t have guards, knowing the dragons were close enough to her there to protect her if someone made a move against her. “What it is?” she asked him in High Valyrian.

In answer to her, Drogon lowered his shoulder, allowing her to climb on his back. As soon as she was settled, he left the ground with Rhaegal behind him. They flew a little way south when she saw the massive host, riding and marching towards Winterfell. Daenerys had Drogon drop closer to the ground, so she could look for some people in particular.

Then she saw them. At the head of the host was Ser Jorah Mormont, leading the forces. A few paces behind him was Missandei, and some of the leaders the Dothraki appointed to her direct command.

Drogon made a few more lazy circles before landing, a great poof of snow bouncing around him. She dismounted from the dragon and awaited the arrival of Ser Jorah.

He was not more than a few minutes in joining her. “How has your travel been?” she asked. As he climbed off the horse, she saw him bundled up in cloaks and furs, looking every inch the Northerner he was.

“This is still the early winter, so it hasn’t been very tough,” he told her as Missandei pulled up alongside him.

“And you? How have you been handling the weather?” Daenerys asked her.

“It has been...interesting,” her translator said diplomatically.

Having known the woman a few years, she knew what she meant by interesting. But it was Ser Jorah who she needed to speak to. “The Northern Lords have been gathering at Winterfell since we arrived. Among them is House Mormont.”

He understood. “Ser Davos told me the lady of the house is my cousin, Lyanna.”

“A formidable woman,” Daenerys replied. “Jon and his sister Lady Sansa also told me of a death sentence on your head if you returned to the North.”

Again, he nodded. “Will I be escorted directly to the block?”

She shook her head. “No. Lady Stark said that since the man who issued the sentence is, himself, dead, they do not feel it right to go through with it.”

“The old way,” Ser Jorah explained. When he caught Missandei questioning look, he went on. “In the North, before the conqueror came, executions were done by the man who issued the sentence. It was believed that it was only proper to face the accused before the sentence was carried out.”

“Lord Eddard Stark is the one who issued the death sentence,” Daenerys elaborated, “but he was executed on false charges by Lord Tyrion’s nephew, Joffrey Baratheon. “As such, House Stark has issued a commutation of sorts. The only uncertainty is the young Lady Mormont. They have presented a case for you, telling her of your actions north of the Wall, and I have argued for you when you followed me in Essos. But I cannot promise that you will be welcomed back.”

If she had not known him so well, it would have seemed as though it was unimportant to her. But Daenerys knew some part of him yearned to return to his home if only to see it one more time. “I did not return to Westeros to seek forgiveness from my family, so I shall expect none,” he told her.

The Queen nodded. “I think it a good idea to ride the remainder of the way with you. I am sure the Northerners still have reservations about the Unsullied and Dothraki.” She turned to Drogon, telling him to fly back to Winterfell as a horse was brought for her. Then they continued on their journey. 

When they were within sight of Winterfell, Daenerys heard the horn sound out and within minutes, she, Jorah and Missandei were entering the gate of the keep. It was a surprise that none of the Starks had arrived in the main courtyard yet. In fact, the only person there to greet them was Lady Lyanna Mormont.

Daenerys got off her horse, as did the others, and approached the young lady. “Lady Mormont,” she said. 

“Your Grace,” the young girl replied, but never did she move her gaze from her cousin. 

“May I introduce my aide, Missandei of Naath,” Daenerys said, presenting the translator, “the commander of the Unsullied, Grey Worm, and the commander of my Queensguard, Ser Jorah Mormont.”

“My Lady Mormont.” He spoke in a voice so low, it was nearly a whisper. Then he bowed before the girl, his eyes not meeting hers.

Lady Mormonts caught Daenerys, and anyone watching the scene, by surprise. She walked over to him, and hugged him, enfolding him tightly in her grip. He looked to be as stunned as everyone else, his arms hanging loosely around her small frame. From over their shoulders, Dany could see Jon arrive with Tyrion next to him. His dark eyes widened, taking in the image of Lyanna Mormont looking much like a normal young girl would look when greeting family.

Then the moment was broken, Lyanna standing back. “It has been many years since you have returned to Westeros, cousin,” she said. “When you are freed from your duties to the queen, I should like to hear about them. Queen Daenerys and King Jon have told me many things and I would like to hear about them from you.”

“I would greatly appreciate speaking with you when I can, my lady,” Jorah replied, bowing again to her.

“Good. Perhaps we can break our fast together tomorrow?” she asked, a slight hesitation in her voice.”

“I would be honored.”

The Lady of Bear Island nodded once more, turned her heels and left the courtyard, only curtsying to Jon before she disappeared.

For his part, Jon was speechless, even when he joined the four of them with Tyrion by his side. Daenerys, though, smiled. She had a feeling it would play out in this fashion. She knew something about being the last of her family, the loneliness it felt and the happiness it was to discover you were not alone in the world.

Tyrion broke the silence. “I didn’t think it possible for a Mormont to emote in such a way,” he japed as he tossed a smirk to Jorah.

“She was alone in the world, the last of her family. Now, she knows there is someone still there for her if she needs them,” Daenerys said, glancing in Jon’s direction as Grey Worm and Missandei left to see how Daenerys’ forces were settling in, Jorah went to speak with the Winterfell Master-at-Arms and Tyrion decided it was a good time to check in with Lady Sansa.

Alone now, Jon and she walked along together. “For once, Tyrion’s right,” he said as their eyes met. “I never have seen Lady Mormont look so…”

“Happy?” Dany supplied. “No matter what you were, Jon Snow, you had family, brothers and sisters, a father. You have no idea how lonely the world can be on your own.” He seemed to grimace, a creese of worry evident on his face. “Have you learned anything about the circumstances surrounding your birth? I know you were speaking with Lord Reed.”

“Aye, I did.” He looked as if he did not want to speak of what he had found but then thought better of it. “Lord Reed told us of a box buried in Lyanna’s tomb. It contains letters written by her and Rhaegar, as well as documentation of his annulment and their marriage.”

“Letters?” Dany’s eyebrow lifted with intrigue. “From the both of them?”

“Yes. The ones from my father had a red ribbon, ones from my mother, a grey one,” Jon explained.

“Quite the symbolism,” Daenerys commented. “And what did the letters say?”

He looked away from her as if shamed. “Sansa sent me to my room to make me read them, but…” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I want to know the truth. What does it change? Does it bring them back? Does it bring back all the dead their actions caused?”

“It changes nothing, Jon Snow,” she agreed with him. “But it tells you who they were, who they truly were.” She stopped, remembering the mentions of Rhaegar during her childhood. “I’ve told you that I have two very different portraits of my brother. The great warrior, the gentle minstrel. But he is as much a mystery to me as he is you. And your mother. She was always thought of as some innocent damsel taken by force. Yet in conversation I have had with Lord Tyrion and Lord Varys since our arrival, her true self was much different.” She took his hand, leading him back to the family quarters. “I would like to read these letters. I would like to learn more about my brother, and the woman he loved.”

She could see his reluctance but he eventually gave into her. They made their way to his room and he opened the door for her. Once they were in there together, he let out a chuckle. “You’re the first girl who has ever been in my room,” he told her.

“I am honored,” she said before turning to the bed. As he said, there were piles of letters, all save one still tied in ribbons. She picked up one of the piles and saw they were addressed, simply, the Crown Prince. “It looks like they were trying to make it not seem like what it really was,” she observed, running her fingers over the ink.

“He was married and she was betrothed,” he reminded her. “It looks rather bad even now. Can you imagine how it looked back then?” He picked up a few letters that as loose, and opened them, looking for dates. “This seems to be the first from my mother. ‘To Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen. I wish to thank you for keeping my secret, but in truth, I cannot accept the title of Queen of Love and Beauty. I had heard much of your wife and she is indeed a beautiful woman. But I have my suspicions as to why you chose me. I did not defend my friend, in anonymity, only to have the eyes of the crowd on me later. I do not wish to create a scandal, as I am betrothed to Robert Baratheon. I wish there was a way to return the crown you presented to me, but please, forget about me. Or, if you are to remember me, simply remember the girl you found with the mismatched armor. Sincerely, Lyanna of House Stark’.”

Dany had been looking through her brother’s stack as Jon read, searching for the corresponding message. “To Lyanna of House Stark. I am sorry for the embarrassment my gesture caused you. I could hear Lord Baratheon the rest of our time in Harrenhal on the subject. Yet, when I inquired with a maester about your family, I found some interesting connections with research I have been doing for several years’,” she read. “He goes on to talk about the legends of the White Walkers and the Long Night. ‘My great-great uncle Aemon, maester at Castle Black, has also sent me books and scrolls on this topic. I wonder if you have heard anything about this subject?’” She looked at Jon questioningly. “Was there an Aemon as maester when you were in the Night’s Watch?”

Jon’s mouth turned down when she asked. “Yes, he was the maester until just before the mutiny,” he said. “He died when I was at Hardhome, trying to rescue the Free Folk.”

Daenerys was stunned, She had always assumed she was the last of her family. But it seemed as though coming to the North was when the truths about the Targaryen family dwelled, where the dragons flew to.

“He told me who he was after I learned that my father,” he paused and she could see his uncertainty with the designation, “had been arrested and accused of treason. He spoke of learning when his brother’s grandson, great-grandson, and his children were killed, how close he came to breaking his vows and deserting the Wall.”

In that moment, Daenerys felt a connection with Jon, beyond their bonds of blood. It was more something in their blood calling to each of them, for them needing to be together.

Jon must have felt it too, because he stood, breaking the spell. She sensed his eyes on her, even with her face turned from him. “Daenerys…”

“I understand,” she said, even if a part of her did not. All she wanted now was to ease the tension, and the only way she could think was to leave. “I am sure Tyrion is looking for me. I should leave you to your parents.”

She was about to open the door when he walked over to her and handed her the letters from Rhaegar. “You told me you wanted to know more about your brother. Why don’t you...borrow these, get to know him.” His face was blank, but she thought he was trying to keep the atmosphere light. “Tell me about him, from them. And I can tell you about my mother.”

She said no words as she took the letters and left. Eventually, she returned to her chambers, finding Missandei at the door. “Your Grace,” she said, a familiar smile on her face.

Dany tried to school her features into something more befitting a queen. “It is good to have you back, my friend,” she replied, a broad smile on her own. “I have missed you. Have our people been settled in?”

“Yes,” Missandei answered, “and the Lady Sansa has given us a brief tour of Winterfell.”

“And how are you adapting to the cold, my friend?” Dany knew the woman was having problems on the rest of the way, but that was during the day. Now, the night was falling and Daenerys Targaryen knew the darkness would not improve the temperature.

“I will survive, your grace.” She noticed the letters Dany still held. “Are those correspondences that need to be reviewed?”

“Oh, no, actually, these are private. I would like to be alone now, to read over them. Dinner should be soon. Come and help me when it is time,” Daenerys said. Without a word, the woman left, allowing her to turn her attention to the letters. Her brother’s letters, to the woman he loved, the woman he married, the woman who followed him to the grave and left behind a son.

A son she was falling in love with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually forget to do this, but next week's chapter was too fun to not preview--Samwell Tarly.


	10. Sansa II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has a talk with Daenerys about the men in her life and how the Dragon Queen feels about them. Later, she and Tyrion learn more about Arya's time away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the two-week delay in posting! I just wanted all three of my stories on the same chapter number and since this was the furthest ahead, it suffered the longest. But rest assured, I've got four more chapters in the can, ready to go! Hope you all enjoy!

As the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa had many duties to attend to. Besides organizing feasts and accounting for the goods in the household, things she remembered her mother doing, she also had responsibilities for the holdfasts that fell under the domain of Winterfell. Those were things her father had looked after. Now, as the acclaimed head of House Stark, those were hers to manage as well. 

She remembered, very well, the division of labor her parents had shared, especially at times of feasts or the gathering of the Northern Lords. Her father would meet with his men (and occasional women) while Catelyn Stark entertained the wives. She had always taken special care to visit each guest personally, to see how they were finding themselves around Winterfell.

It was with those memories that brought Sansa to the door of Daenerys Targaryen. Or, at least, that was what she told herself. Yes, she did want to check in with the young queen, but there was an underlying concern that Sansa wanted to bring up.

So a few hours before they were to have their evening meal, a small feast Sansa had organized to welcome the whole host of the Targaryen allies and Northern and Vale lords, she eyed the two large Dothraki guards that had taken up a sentry position on either side of the door. In a clear voice, she requested, “I am Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell. I would like to speak with her grace if it is possible.”

One of the men looked her over, then opened the door, asking the request in a foreign tongue. Daenerys came to the door immediately with a smile and bade her entry.

When the door was closed, Sansa curtsied before addressing the queen. “I was passing by and wanted to see how you have been finding things,” she asked politely.

“I am finding things quite well, my lady. Thank you for your warm hospitality,” Daenerys answered. “Jon told me what a gracious hostess you were, but I will be honest, I did not expect such a warm reception.”

That was fair, Sansa considered. She had been just short of furious when she had received word from Jon that he had bent the knee. It didn’t help, of course, that there was a mockingbird, tweeting in her ear, laying the groundwork that would have made her suspicious. But, by then, she was onto Littlefinger’s games, his unsaid intentions made to plant seeds of treachery. In the end, they had not worked. 

“In truth, I thought you would be more...hostile to me,” the queen continued. 

“Because I would see you as a conqueror, trying to reclaim what her family had lost?” Sansa asked bluntly. “I admit, it was something people were trying to make me think. That you had seduced my brother to regain your throne.”

“But you did not believe it?” It was a question, but she could see it also being a statement. It was asked politely, as the queen beckoned her to take a seat.

“I did, for a brief time,” Sansa replied. “There was an...advisors...who was leading me down that path. I believe they thought I was convinced, right until I charged him, with a number of crimes he had committed against my family and the realm.”

“Lord Petyr Baelish?” Daenerys asked. “I remember Jon asking about him almost immediately upon our arrival.”

“Yes, him,” she said coldly. She could tell the queen wished to know more, so she told her. “He was, under King Robert, the Master of Coin. A master of coin, you can verify with your Hand, who bankrupted the realm. It was probably more the king’s doing, but Littlefinger enabled it, I am sure.”

“Yes, I have heard of him. Lord Varys spoke of him often. Almost seemed to admire him,” Daenerys commented.

“I do not remember them from my time in King’s Landing, your grace, but I do think they enjoyed playing the game against each other.”

Daenerys’ eye quirked up. “Then I guess the spider bested the mockingbird in the end.”

Sansa nodded in agreement. “I guess he did.” 

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Daenerys spoke again. “I sense you are not just here to check in on me,” the queen said. “And I suspect, there is something to my earlier concerns.”

Sansa tipped her head. “You are most insightful.” It was then she saw a decanter with a Dornish red in it. She gestured to it and the queen allowed her to partake, with Sansa passing her a glass. “The first time I ever remember enjoying wine was shortly after I was married to Tyrion. He told me that I would have to partake of it on that day and when we were left alone for our wedding night, I had a long drink from my glass.”

“I sometimes forget you two were married,” Daenerys said. “It is strange, but I cannot picture him husband to any woman.” She took a sip from her own glass. “And did you enjoy the wine that night?”

“Not really, but I was so afraid of what would happen next that I really did not think to enjoy it. But Tyrion, he put me at ease, before, during and after the wedding, and really, until the day I received word of what had befallen my family. After that…” She shook her head, not just to stop the horrible memories, but also to get on with her point. “It is a matter of the heart that I wish to speak with you about, your grace.”

Daenerys took a deep breath. She didn’t seem surprised by the topic. “You may ask your question.”

Sansa mirrored the gesture. “I would like you to know that I have spoken about this topic with your Lord Hand.” She glanced over at the queen, trying to read her face. “After some degree of intimidating looks. When you arrived, I noticed the closeness between you and my brother, then afterward when Bran told us the truth of Jon’s heritage. I spoke with Tyrion shortly thereafter.”

“Then go ahead and ask your question.” 

It was a command, Sansa was sure of that. “Now that you know that he is your nephew and you are his aunt,” she sighed before going on, “do you still love him?”

Even if she allowed the question, it was clear that she was not truly prepared to answer it. Her gaze faltered from Sansa’s eyeline, and she took a deep swallow from her glass. Finally, she gave her answer. “Yes, I do still love him.” Sansa sensed there was more to come, so she waited patiently. “We are Targaryens, you see,” meaning, naturally, Jon and herself, “and for generations, we have married brother to sister, to keep a purity of the bloodline. It is not the same to me, this weariness of such a close relationship. In fact, all my life, I thought I would marry my brother Viserys.”

Sansa remembered some mention of that name since she had been there. From what little she had heard of him, he was rather...unpleasant, but she did not want to bring up the details yet. She was all too aware of dealing with harmful memories.

Daenerys, too, did not want to elaborate on her brother. “And I would not say anything close to a seduction took place for him to chose to bend the knee. He is not so easily swayed by a pretty face. He seems to value a person’s heart above all else.” Now she smiled sadly. “I do love him and I pray that when he comes out the other side of all these lies, he is able to love me as well.”

Sansa thought over her words. She was grateful for the sentiments, but one thing troubled her. “I appreciate your honesty, your grace, but there is one thing you are wrong about.”

“And what, my lady, would that be?”

“Jon is just as much a Stark as he is a Targaryen. He is the son of Lady Lyanna Stark, as he is the son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen,” Sansa reminded her. “Even if he has never thought himself one.”

“You are correct, my lady. I offer my humble apologies,” the queen returned. Then her face grew curious. “What do you mean by he has never thought himself a Stark? He always believed his father was Ned Stark, correct?”

“Aye, that is what he believed, but he thought that because he was a bastard, it somehow nullified that part of him.” She was suddenly caught in a memory, one that she thought could illustrate her point. “After we won back Winterfell, we stood together on its walls. He told me he was giving me the Lord’s chamber. It had been my parents' room when they still lived. He felt, as I was trueborn, I was the Lady of Winterfell and they were now mine. He was still a bastard, even as he led our forces into battle, even as he was our father’s last son. At least, it was what we believed. We had no knowledge of where Bran could be, if he was still even alive.”

“You protested it, I take it,” Daenerys assumed.

“I did. But I am not sure if you have noticed, it is useless arguing with him,” she muttered. At the look Daenerys was giving her, she looked to be familiar with that aspect of her brother. “He repeated, once more, that he wasn’t a Stark.” Now Sansa grimaced, memories from their childhood fresh in her mind. “It was something I tended to throw back at him when we were younger. But I told him that day, he was a Stark to me.” She took another sip of the wine. “He still insisted on giving me the chambers.”

Sansa realized she was straying from the topic at hand. “You do love him,” she repeated, wanting to hear it again. Daenerys nodded. “I love him too. I and Arya and Bran. And Robb did and Rickon did. He is our brother, even despite the truth, and we will not give him up to a woman who may be using him to further her own power.”

A stern look came across the other woman’s face. “I am not Cersei Lannister. I would not use affection to manipulate a man.” Sansa knew she spoke of the Southern queen’s words and body to keep her twin’s loyalty to her, well beyond the man’s stomaching of it.

Her utterance made Sansa laugh lightly. “I am sorry, your grace, but Jon once accused me of thinking I likened him to Joffrey Baratheon. I told him he was the furthest from Joffrey one could get.” She took another sip. “But I also pointed out to him how I feared he would repeat the mistakes made by our brother Robb, as well as our father. The main one of Robb’s was giving his heart away for merely love. It led down the path of ruin for him, for all of us. I do not believe you and Jon are the same thing, but it is a concern.”

Daenerys looked away from Sansa, her face turned to her bed. It was then that Sansa noticed a number of papers strewn all over it. She could see a number of them opened as if they were letters. Standing up, she walked over and picked one of the papers up. “I am, too, aware of the precarious path the heart can lead.” She handed the letter to Sansa, who read a few lines. “They are letters from my brother to your aunt.” 

Sansa read a few lines, taken by the depth of Rhaegar’s words to Lyanna. All the frilly poems, all the romantic songs were dimmed by the words written down all those years ago. “These were in the box we discovered in Aunt Lyanna’s tomb?” she asked.

“Yes, they were. He allowed me to take my brother’s letters. They have given me an insight into him I was never able to have,” Daenerys explained. Then she looked at Sansa, a yearning in her expression. “I envy you, Lady Stark. I envy the family you have around you, that you grew up with. Jon has spoken much about all of you and even the...difficulties...sounded wonderful.”

“I only wish I appreciated it when I had it fully,” she admitted. “Even with Robb, Bran and Rickon, I wasn’t the easiest sister to live with. I took after my mother much more than my father, whereas everyone else was either more northern or just better balanced at being both. But I dreamed of knights and maidens, and was enamored with the boy my father agreed to betroth me to.” Even though nothing had progressed as far with Joffrey as it had with Ramsey, he still returned to haunt her. She shook her head to banish the memories. After another moment, she found herself smiling. “The second attempt at a Stark/Baratheon marriage.”

“Second?” Daenerys asked.

As Sansa explained, the queen seemed to have remembered the story. “Lyanna was supposed to marry Robert Baratheon, a match arranged because he had been fostered in the Vale with my father. It seemed like a good match, the daughter of the Warden of the North and the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. In the end, even with all the pain it caused, I believe Aunt Lyanna chose correctly for herself.”

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. “When I first learned of it, first came to know the truth about it, I must say, I was not sure. It doomed so many, my parents, her father and brother and on and on, down through the years.”

Sansa had to agree. Because of Lyanna and Rhaegar’s love, thousands died. It started a war that overthrew a dynasty and allowed the lions to rule the realm. Then, as if to remind the both of them, one of Daenerys’ dragons let out a screech. “It did. But had it not happened the way it did, would you be here? Would you have your dragons, your Unsullied, your Dothraki? Would Jon have been there to bring together the Free Folk and the North?” Sansa stood and made her way to the door. “Think of it in those terms. And think of this. Had it not happened? Would the two of you be in the orbit of each other, to be in love? For I believe it when you say you love him. And I am certain he loves you. He needs time to absorb it all in...and to brood on it.”

At that, Daenerys let out a soft laugh. “He does brood very well. I thank you, my lady, for your words, and I will see you at the feast.”  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“And how is my lady wife faring amidst the chaos of the recent days?” Tyrion asked as he sat next to her at the feast. It wasn’t as grand a display as the one he had previously been a guest at Winterfell, but they were able to provide a good deal of food and drink, Sansa was pleased to say. 

She was less pleased by her brother’s mood for the evening. She saw him enter the Great Hall with Arya, but he looked none too pleased. For most of the evening, he sat at the center of the High Table, but he might have well as been in the corner as he had been in their youth. He spoke to no one more the necessary, even though she, Arya, Davos, even Jaime, tried to pull him out of it. It had to have come from his mother’s letters. While the letter from Rhaegar seemed to have provided comfort to his sister, it looked as though none came to Jon from his mother. 

“She fares well, but not as your wife, sadly.” Pulling herself back to the present, Sansa meant her words. Even in the midst of Ramsey’s torture, she almost wished that Tyrion was still there, by her side, protecting her as he had for nearly two years. “I think I should apologize to you, my lord.”

“Apologies? To me?” Tyrion nearly spat out the sip of wine he had just taken. Then his brow furrowed, giving her a familiar self-pitying expression. “There is nothing you need to apologize to me for.”

“I think there is. I apologize for letting Littlefinger take me away when you needed my voice to speak for you when no one else would,” she argued. “If I had not let Ser Dontos take…”

“You would have been arrest right beside me, and probably killed before any trial, fair or farce, could have been held,” he replied. “From what Jaime tells me, she still thinks you were responsible for Joffrey’s death. And this is even after Olenna Tyrell confessed to him before her death.”

Though it should not have been a shock to her, Sansa was saddened by word of the old woman’s death. Whatever her reasons, Olenna was at least the kindest manipulator she had encountered in King’s Landing. She loved her family and, now, it seemed obvious just how far she would go for their well-being. Her eyes fell to Jaime, talking off to the side with Lady Brienne. 

Tyrion followed her sightline before turning back. “Varys got her and Ellaria Sand to side with Daenerys before we set sail for Westeros, along with Yara Greyjoy. However, in the attack I planned to begin the campaign to reclaim the throne for my queen, I was outflanked by both Jaime and Euron Greyjoy. He decimated our fleet sailing for Dorne, captured Yara and Ellaria, while Jaime took Highgarden as he sacrificed Casterly Rock to the Unsullied.” He took another sip. “And I thought after the Blackwater, I was quite good at war planning. Jaime allowed Olenna a peaceful death. The Queen of Thorns got one last barb in, though. She wanted Cersei to know she poisoned Joffrey.”

“He was on my list,” another voice joined their conversation, and it made Sansa cringe. For as much as she had gotten used to the idea of her sister, the master assassin, the idea of Arya having a kill list scared her.

But neither of them noticed her reaction. “You have a kill list? And, pray tell, who is on this list? Hopefully, not me, nor my brother. He was at my side as much as possible during my ordeal.” It was a typical one of his japes, although said more darkly.

Arya took a slug from her tankard of ale. “No, my lord. Rest easy, neither you nor Ser Jaime is on it. Your sister, however…”

“Cersei’s name is on a lot of lists, methinks,” Tyrion said. “Mine too, if I had one. And I am sure I have more reasons than you. Nearly forty years worth, in fact.”

Arya’s face remained unreadable. “I would have struck her name, had I not heard that Jon had won back Winterfell and been crowned King in the North.”

Sansa blinked. “That is why you came home, you heard that news,” she reasoned.

“I was told by a friend at the Crossroads, that he had been named King in the North. I...I did not believe it, but I had to take the chance that it was true,” she explained, her voice faltering a bit. “I couldn’t imagine him a king.”

“How did that come about, my lady? I must say, when the Lady Melisandre told us that at Dragonstone, I didn’t believe it,” Tyrion asked.

“The Red Woman came to Queen Daenerys?” Arya asked suddenly, not allowing Sansa a chance to answer.

Tyrion looked amused, for some reason, even as Sansa knew what her sister was to say. “Another name on your list, I take it.” But her sister remained tight-lipped, awaiting the Lord Hand’s response. “She came to tell Daenerys to call Jon Snow, that she felt the two of them played a part in the great war to come. I did not even know he was no longer a member of the Night’s Watch.”

“He was named king because I did not wish it,” Sansa said before Arya could go any further with her comments about the Red Priestess. “I knew Littlefinger was trying to use me to amass more power, so I set about making an argument with a few lords and advisors that it should be Jon.” She jutted her chin in the direction of Lyanna Mormont, sitting with her men and, to Sansa’s surprise, Ser Jorah. “I began with her, then Lord Reed, Ser Davos, even Tormund, planting the idea to see if it would take. It was Lady Mormont who actually brought it to the rest of the lords.” She chuckled at the memory. “She took down Manderly, Glover and Cerwyn for their cravenness at not coming to our aid and repeated a message she gave Stannis Baratheon about who she felt was the rightful king.”

Arya’s face lightened as she looked at the young lady. “She doesn’t know yet, does she, how correct she is?”

“No, she doesn’t. Jon asked that it stay amongst us for now,” Sansa admitted. “The thought still frightens him. So, only those who were present that day, plus Howland Reed, know the truth.”

“The others will need to know, and soon. I doubt there is much time left until we are faced with the army of the dead,” Tyrion said. 

Sansa looked to Jon, still sulking, off in his own world. Her glance also caught Daenerys, knowing that this woman, this queen, wanted to help Jon with these revelations. Wanted Jon to love her just as he did before he was told the truth. “The others will have to know a great many things soon,” she replied, more to herself than anyone else.


	11. Samwell I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a surprising encounter the Queen, who grants him a wish. Later, Gilly grants him another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say, the next two chapters were the most fun I had writing this story! Sam is a great character, full of moments of comic relief and Gilly is wonderful too! I can see her and Daenerys getting along too well.

Samwell Tarly looked across the hall and saw Jon Snow with a familiar expression on his face. For a man who was named King, who had at long last discovered who his mother was, he was no happier now than he was the day they met. 

As if echoing his thoughts, Gilly said, “I thought he would be happy to know who his mum was.” Then she looked at him. “Do you think he’s mad at me?”

That question confused him. “Why would he be mad at you?”

“Well, I was the one who read that passage in the High Septon’s diary. And then when Bran told you that Jon’s name should be Sand because he was born in Dorne, you put it together. But, if I never read it…”

“Then Jon wouldn’t know the truth,” Sam reasoned. Gilly nodded, but Sam knew he had to reassure her. “Jon needs to know. And he’ll...get over it...eventually.” At least, that was what Sam hoped. “I think I should go talk to him. You’ll be alright here?”

But before he could stand up and go, Queen Daenerys appeared at their side. “You are Samwell Tarly? Of the Night’s Watch?” she asked.

“Um, yes, your grace,” he stuttered. He had been in her presence before, on the day she and Jon arrived at Winterfell, but he suspected he was rather forgettable after hearing the news that Jon was her nephew and the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Then, as if remembering, he waved towards his companion. “And this is Gilly, of…” He didn’t want to say where she was truly from, reminded of his father’s attitude when they returned to Horn Hill. 

“I’m a wildling, your grace,” Gilly offered without fear. “And I think I should apologize. I was the one who found the entry in the High Septon’s diary. The one about him annulling your brother’s marriage and then marrying him to Lady Lyanna.”

Daenerys’ expression turned soft. “There is nothing to apologize for, my lady. You, in fact, gave me a great gift in learning the truth. You gave me family back that I did not even know I had. A nephew, and, by extension, his cousins. I feel I am indebted to you.” Now she looked back to Sam, a sorrow showing. “To both of you, in fact.”

“Um, well, thank you, your grace, but I...I don’t know if I am understanding you. Why do you feel you owe me a debt?” Sam asked nervously.

The queen looked around the room, finding Tyrion who glanced back at her, a grimace on his face. Then she turned back to Sam, beckoning him to sit. After he did, she began. “Several months ago, I learned that Cersei Lannister’s forces took Highgarden, who allied themselves with me. Their army was defeated and Lady Olenna Tyrell was dead for her betrayal. Among the forces who side with the Lannisters was House Tarly.”

“House...Tarly?” Sam had a suspicion as to the direction of this story, but not the courage to ask directly. 

“Lord Randyll Tarly himself led his host. Alongside him was his son, Dickon.” Now there was pity on her face. “My Dothraki and Drogon defeated them, and I offered the survivors the option to bend the knee or die. Many did--”

“--except my father,” Sam finished.

“And your brother,” Daenerys added. “Your father ordered him to bend the knee but he refused...and they died together.”

Sam closed his eyes. He didn’t know what he was feeling, what he should be feeling. His brother never did him any harm, but his father...he knew it was wrong of him to be happy his father was dead yet at the same time…

“I’m glad he’s dead,” Gilly stated firmly, surprising both he and Daenerys. “He was cruel to you, Sam. He threatened to kill you if you didn’t renounce your title and join the Night’s Watch. And he was a mean bastard to me, all prejudiced and belittling.”

Now Daenerys turned to him. “Is that true? Did he truly intend to kill you if you didn’t give up being Lord of Horn Hill?” He could see the fury building up in her and, out of plain fear, only nodded. Now her features seemed to set in stone. “Then I am more certain than before I am justified in my next actions.”

She left their table, making her way to Jon’s side. He seemed to be pulled out of his brooding as he got up and followed the queen to a corner of the hall. Sam watched in fascination as the two had a quiet, but vivid argument. Eventually, it attracted both Tyrion Lannister and Jon’s advisor, Ser Davos Seaworth. Jon looked in Sam’s direction a few times, then back to the queen. It looked like he was trying to placate her, but she was having none of it. Lord Tyrion also tried to calm her, but that didn’t work either.

Finally, with a few shakes of his head, Jon, Daenerys and the other two men made their way back to the High Table. He banged his tankard on the table, garnering the attention of all present. 

Once there was quiet, Queen Daenerys spoke. “My lords, my ladies, I ask your indulgence for a time.” When she got the full attention of everyone, she asked, “What would any of you think of a man who was so embarrassed by his son and heir that he would force the son to give up his inheritance?”

Sam’s face turned bright red as he looked around for a dark space to crawl into. He saw Jon look at him, silently conveying his guilt. All Sam could do was shake his head and wave Jon off.

Finally, young Lyanna Mormont rose from her seat next to Ser Jorah. “Why would a father be embarrassed by a son?” she asked her tone one of confusion.

“For a number of reasons, I am told, Lady Mormont. He felt his son’s innate curiosity and desire to learn were in conflict with his house’s history in battle. He thought his son craven because he did not want to take up arms. He believed his son’s...physique was not one of a warrior. Thusly, he gave that son a choice. Renounce his title, swear the oath of the Night’s Watch...or suffer an accident.”

“A father that would do such a thing is the craven. He has no honor,” the little lady replied, her face pinched in fury.

“He’s a fool,” said Lord Reed. He too, stood, looking around at the assembled. “There is much more to being a lord than leading battles. We in the Neck are no great fighters, to be sure. But we have other skills and I pride myself on my children’s curious minds. It led them to braveries most fathers could not conceive.”

Daenerys looked over the gathering with an eye of approval, as most others nodded in agreement. She turned to Jon, her eyebrow lifted in a show of satisfaction. Jon got the unspoken message and appeared to agree with her. Then she looked at Sam. “Samwell Tarly, of the Night’s Watch, please come forward.”

Sam knew a command when he heard one, and with a slight tremble of dread, rose. He threw a quick glance at Gilly before he arrived at the center of the hall. Bowing his head, his voice nearer a whisper, he said, “My...my...queen.”

“Samwell Tarly, did you, of your own free will, choose to travel from your home in the Reach to join the Brotherhood of the Night’s Watch?” the queen interrogated. 

“No...no, your grace,” he answered, his face surely beet red by now.

“Then why did you travel to the Wall and join?”

He huffed out a breath as he struggled to control his emotions. “My father told me, before my eighteenth nameday, that he did not feel I was the right sort to inherit the family title. He thought my younger brother, Dickon, was more suited to lead our house.” Sam’s eyes flickered to Jon, who looked at him with nothing but sympathy.

Daenerys must have seen the look that passed between the two men. “His grace, the King in the North, tells me that your father threatened you with a fatal accident, should you not renounce your title and swear vows to the Night’s Watch, is that correct?”

Sam nodded his head. “Yes, your grace.”

“How would you describe your time as a brother?” Sam must have seemed confused by the question, because she added, “Did you enjoy being a sworn brother? Is it something you wish to commit the rest of your life to?”

“Not really, your grace. I’ve not been too good about keeping the vows, even though I knew the price if I didn’t.” His eyes fell back to Gilly, and now she flushed with color. “I’d have preferred to be a maester if my father didn’t want me as his heir, but he thought the Watch would make a man out of me.”

Daenerys also looked to Gilly. “King Jon told me of some of your actions from your time in the Watch. You rescued a woman and her newborn son from an...abusive situation. You were the one who discovered that dragonglass had the ability to destroy White Walkers. He even sent you to train at the Citadel to learn more about this. Tell me, Samwell Tarly, is it your wish to become a maester still?”

Once upon a time, it would have been his greatest wish. Now, however… “To be honest, I may not have left the Citadel on the best of terms. And there is also the matter of them making you swear off women too,” he answered, to which he heard several hearty chuckles. 

“Is it your wish to marry, someday?” Daenerys asked. 

He was surprised by the question. “I would like to. Someday. Never thought a girl would want to marry me, is more like.”

Now Daenerys’ attention was focused behind him. “Lady Gilly, would you please approach.”

Gilly’s head swiveled from one side to the other as all eyes in the room were on her. “Me, your grace?” she asked dumbly. The queen smiled, but Gilly’s movements were still cautious as she joined at Sam’s side. 

“Lady Gilly, would you like to marry this man?” came the blunt question, which she only answered with a single nod of the head. “Why would you like to marry him?”

“He a good man, your grace. He’s kind and he is brave, even if his stupid father didn’t believe me. He loves my son, even if he isn’t his,” she replied with a strong tone.

Daenerys acknowledged the answers before returning to Sam. “Samwell Tarly, I am prepared to absolve you of your vows of the Night’s Watch. I am told they can be under special circumstances, such as the only remaining male heir of a house. Also, if you would like, I can formally betroth you to the Lady Gilly and, upon your marriage, legitimize her son. He will be your heir until you have sons of your own by her. If and when that happens, I will see that Little Sam is fostered by a noble house and be given the choice of what he wants for his future, be it the Night’s Watch, the Kingsguard or the Citadel. I only ask only two things in return.”

Sam was too awestruck to respond to her, only listen. “I ask you to swear fealty to me,” she said in one breath, “and ask for your forgiveness for the death of your brother. If you give me these two things, I will name you Lord of Horn Hill and Lord Paramount of the Reach when we defeat the Night King and remove Cersei Lannister from the Iron Throne.”

Sam noticed she did not ask for forgiveness for his father’s execution. He wouldn’t have given it anyway. In the time since his brief return home, he had grown indifferent to the man. He had been verbally abusive to him all his life, disrespectful of him, even as he tried to fulfill the picture of a lord by his actions. Sam did grieve for his brother, however, even that was somewhat problematic. “My brother was a good lad, tried to make up for some of the faults my father thought I had. All the same, he did too much to emulate him. And tragically for Dickon, it led to his death. I grieve that my brother is dead, if for no other reason than how it affects my mother and sisters. But there’s nothing to forgive if my brother chose his fate, even over our father’s protests.”

Daenerys accepted that. “Then will you swear fealty to me?”

“Yes, actually, I will...but I beg your indulgence for a bit,” he replied, any stutter falling away now. He backed up to the door of the hall amidst much confusion from the lords and ladies. 

Even Gilly didn’t have any clue what he was doing. “Sam?” she asked as he moved further away, lastly calling “Sam!” after he was out the door.

He hurried to the quarters provided by Lady Sansa for him and his family. There was something there he needed. But as he got to the door, he stopped, a broad smile on his face. His family, he thought with pride. He already considered Little Sam and Gilly to be his family, but to hear it affirmed by someone else, a queen no less, sent him into a giddy high. When he got to the door, he opened it with more force than he intended. The servant girl tasked with watching over Little Sam jumped.

“Milord?” the girl asked. That made him laugh some more. The poor thing must have thought him mad. 

“It’s alright, no need to stand, just needed to retrieve something,” he rushed through, hurrying to a cupboard. There, he found what he wanted and made his way to the exit. But before he left, he peeked into the crib. Sam was wide awake, smiling at him like he always did.

That’s my son, he realized. My son by the blessing of the queen.

When he returned to the Great Hall, it seemed to be in a state of chaos, mostly at the head table. Gilly was still in the center of the room, looking rather annoyed when she saw him. He smiled, trying to reassure her, but it didn’t seem to help. 

Jon and Daenerys saw him come in as well and broke off the conference they must have held when he left. Again, he offered an apologetic expression. “Your grace, I am sorry, for rushing off so, but I felt that if I was to swear fealty to you, it should be done right.” He pulled a sword and scabbard from the cloth it had been wrapped in. “This is my family’s sword, Heartsbane. It’s Valyrian steel, and I thought it could come in some use when the dead come.” Then he looked to Daenerys. “I am ready, your grace.”

“Then kneel, Samwell Tarly.” He did as commanded, Heartsbane’s tip pointed to the stone floor, Gilly imitating him. “For centuries, House Tarly pledged their loyalty to House Tyrell, who in turn pledged themselves to House Targaryen. I ask you, do you pledge your loyalty to House Targaryen and serve as our lords in the Reach and come to our aid when called upon?”

“I will,” Sam answered with a voice full of confidence.

He saw the pleased expression of the queen’s face and a wide smile on Jon’s. “Then arise, Lord Samwell of House Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill and Lord Paramount of the Reach.”

As he and his lady stood, raucous applause broke out across the Great Hall. It was a surprise to him, hearing any sort of cheering directed his way. He turned around, accepting it, though still with as sheepishness he suspected wouldn’t go away that quickly. Then he saw Gilly, a bright smile on her face. He raised his arm to her shoulders and gave her a light peck on the forehead. Together, the basked in the adulation.

It was later on when most of the crowd had retired for the night, that he was able to speak to Jon.

“I am sorry for having it all brought out in such a public way,” he told him. “I thought it could be done quieter, but it’s hard to argue with…”

“With the woman you love?” Sam asked, sneaking a glance at Gilly. She was off talking with Daenerys and Lady Sansa, both of whom tried to reassure her they would help her in her new station. “Yes, I think I know what that’s like.”

Jon didn’t respond to that comment. “All the same, your father was wrong to do such a thing to you in the first place. The queen saw it as another form of the powerful crushing the weak, I think she put it. Lord Tyrion, well, he’s been walking on eggshells shells around you since we arrived. He did his best to stop Daenerys from going through...but she wouldn’t listen.”

“From the stories I’ve heard told of Tywin Lannister, I get a feeling we’d be in the same boat with our fathers. I will say I do feel sorry he’s dead, but she offered him a chance to live and he was too hard headed to take it,” Sam concluded. 

The ladies walked over to him and Jon then. “Your betrothed is a delightful woman, Lord Tarly,” Daenerys complimented to him. “She told us how, with your defending her with a Valyrian blade, you discovered the first method of fighting them.”

“Actually, my Queen, that was Jon. He used a lantern to defend Lord Commander Mormont when one attacked him and found that the fire destroyed it,” he replied with all modesty.

“And you defended her against rapists among your own brothers…” the queen said, her smile remaining on her face.

“Ghost really did most of that. I was nearly unconscious from their beatings by the time he ran into the room.”

“And you aided Brandon Stark to go through the Wall when he was on his mission to reach the Three-Eyed Raven…” she said, her voice becoming tight with some frustration.

Now Sam turned to Jon. “Actually, I thought you’d be angry with me for that. He...he was very insistent. That’s what made me do it in the end.”

Jon shook his head. “Sam…”

Queen Daenerys scowled at him at this point, though it didn’t seem to be fully so. “Your Grace,” she directed at Jon, “Can Lord Tarly not accept a word of gratitude when it is offered?”

Jon looked at Sam then back to the queen. “No,” he sighed. “Not much at all. And I wouldn’t try to argue with him about it.”

“Very well, then. I...think I shall take my leave of you for the night,” she replied. Sansa curtsied, as she offered her assistance to the queen, with Gilly offering her best effort. Jon and Sam just bent their heads.

When she was gone, Sam himself could not stifle the yawn. “It’s been a long day, and I think it will be longer ones as the days go on. We’ll take our leave of you, if it’s alright, your grace.”

“Sam, you don’t have to bow to me. The Reach is pledged to the Iron Throne and, technically, the North still has its independence.” Jon told him. “But I will say goodnight to the both of you.”

When Lord and, well, almost-Lady Tarly got to their room, the dismissed the maid and watched Little Sam in his sleep. “Lord Samwell Tarly. He’ll most likely be the Lord of Horn Hill one day if we survive. I think Mother will be pleased with that.”

“She was very kind to me, and right pissed at your father. I know I’m not what she would have thought her daughter by law would be, but at least she was better at hiding any displeasure,” Gilly said, slipping out of her dress.

“No, she was pleased. Before I met you in the Great Hall at Horn Hill, I told her I was leaving with you, to go to Oldtown. She was the one who encouraged me to take Heartsbane actually,” Sam explained, still staring at the little boy. “We probably should be married soon. I mean, I think we should do it before, you know, the dead kill us all.”

Gilly nodded. “I think we should too. At least, within the next four or five moon turns.”

“In the next several moons turns, we might all be dead,” he said as he turned towards her on the bed. Then he saw the look she was giving him. “Wait...why would you say…?” But as Gilly continued to glare at him, it was as if the candle had been lit at last. “You’re not…”

“Well, we haven’t exactly been sleeping in separate rooms,” she replied, the tiniest of smiles crawling across her lips. “You’re not upset.”

“Upset?!” He figured his eyebrows were hidden in his hairline at that sentence. “It’s...I can’t believe it!” He couldn’t help feeling the same thing he had earlier in the evening when he had returned to their room, briefly. “Oh, Gilly. You just made me the happiest lord in all the land.” He gave her a sweet kiss, one that deepened when she returned it. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Your welcome, milord. Just please, promise me you’ll survive all this,” she implored him as she grew serious again.

“By the will of all the gods, Old and New, I’ll do the best I can,” he swore as they eased into the bed.


	12. Davos I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two Hands talk about the state of affairs of the monarchs and the King gets counsel from his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been terribly remiss in not having chapters of other major characters and I am sorry. Last week, I had one for Sam and this week, it's everyone's favorite smuggler-turned-trusted advisor and pseudo uncle, Davos Seaworth. A wonderful character who's actor I enjoy as much as his alter-ego.

Davos Seaworth had watched Tyrion Lannister, Hand to Queen Daenerys Targaryen, as he left the Great Hall.  After the fuss kicked up by Her Grace a short time ago regarding Samwell Tarly, he thought it a good idea to speak with the other man, one advisor to another.  

 

“Now, does that make ya feel better, my Lord?” he asked.  Davos knew Tyrion had grave concerns regarding the queen’s actions against Randyll and Dickon Tarly following the battle on the Goldroad.  The other man had done everything in his power to hold off Daenerys’ decree of death for the two men, but it came to nothing. The father and son died in the flames of Drogon.

 

It was on their way North that Samwell Tarly’s name came up in conversation.  Jon had gone through a quick list of people who he knew to be at Winterfell when they arrived.  The maester in training was mentioned offhandedly. The look that passed between Daenerys and Tyrion did not escape Davos’ notice and he had pulled Lord Tyrion aside after the meeting.  That was where he had been told what had happened.

 

And then, when they arrived at Winterfell, where they had almost immediately been greeted by the news of who Jon Snow’s true parents were.  It had sent all into a tailspin and put every other matter on hold, including the news of the Tarly’s. In brief conversations with his equal, Davos knew that was becoming a matter of concern amongst both the Hand and Lord Varys.

 

Now though, it seemed to have been put to bed and with little lingering issues.  The only problem that had arisen was between Jon and the queen. But now, it seemed even that was set right.

 

“Yes,” Tyrion answered, his hand rubbing the tiredness from his eyes.  “One problem solved, one thousand more for us to face.”

 

Davos couldn’t argue with that.  “Aye, we still have the Night King and your sister,” he agreed.  “But, any victory we can relish, here and now, we should.”

 

The other man laughed at that.  “Well, I think I relished this one enough before it actually occurred.  If I do so any more, I won’t be able to stand upright.” That said, he let out a sigh.  “Perhaps we should talk on happier subjects.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“What we are to do with our individual monarchs,” the dwarf replied.  “Ever since the ship, I am sure you were aware the nature of their relationship had changed.”

 

“It was something I heard about,” he put mildly.  In truth, it was something none on the open sea could ignore.

 

“Since then, I had toyed with the idea of proposing a marriage pact.  It seemed the easiest solution to the conflict between the independent North and the remaining six kingdoms,” Tyrion explained.  “A personal union. Knowing something of Northern stubbornness, I thought it would pass the muster of his Lords. Now, however…”

 

“Now, they are rather closely related,” Davos concluded.

 

“Well, by the standards of most of Westeros.  Taking the Targaryens into consideration, they’re as distantly related as the Baratheons are to the Targaryens.”  That came out with a smirk. “And I say that as a man who grew up knowing just how close his older siblings really were.”

 

Davos knew who he was speaking about.  “That gave me a thought, my Lord,” he began, unsure of how to broach the topic, “how was it that you at least thought your sister had come to see reason?”

 

“Gods, I need a drink!” was the only answer that came back.  Tyrion then turned and went back into the hall, now empty but for the servants, Davos following.  They found a half-cleaned table with a half-empty jug of wine and two semi-clean goblets. Pouring them out before he sat, the youngest Lannister actually looked sad.  “I am sure you are aware of the truth of my nephews and niece?” A nod acknowledged the fact. “In spite of everything, I know, in his heart of hearts, Jaime only ever wished to be known as their father.”  Tyrion took a gulp, then amended that statement. “Well, Myrcella and Tommen, certainly. And, for a brief moment, he was. Jaime told me that while they were traveling from Dorne, she confided that she had worked out the truth...and she was happy for it.”

 

No matter what Davos may have thought about Jaime and Cersei Lannister’s relationship, he could understand the yearning to be a father.  He had seven sons, three still alive, and yet he hadn’t had much time to be a proper father to any of them, save Mathos. Jaime had spent his childrens’ lives always around them, and not able to acknowledge them.  “He must have been overjoyed by that,” came Davos’ response.

 

“Beyond that, from what he told me.  And then, as quickly as he was a father, it was taken from him.  She had been poisoned by Ellaria Sand and died in his arms. And he wasn’t there when Tommen fell through the window.  Worse, when he did return, Cersei would not even touch on the subject. Then, sometime afterward, they had another encounter and, from what he and I, when I spoke to her were told, she is with child yet again.”

 

Davos was not sure how he was meant to react to that.  Normally, a forthcoming babe was a joy, especially in a dark time such as this.  But he also knew the nature of the Lannister twin’s relationship. Plus, there was the fact that the prospective father was here fighting by their side and not with the mother to be.

 

Tyrion interrupted any words Davos intended to express. “Jaime isn’t even sure if Cersei truly is pregnant.  He feels there is enough evidence to suggest she has been faking such a state to manipulate he, myself, even the King and Queen.”  He took another sip. “What were we discussing? Oh, yes! Our King and Queen.”

 

That was a hint to change the subject if he ever heard one.  “Would it be frowned upon, a...what is it, nephew and aunt? Truly?  I know your own parents were cousins, and I believe I remember Lady Sansa remarking about her own, and Jon’s as well, grandparents being cousins.”

 

The Queen’s Hand chuckled.  “I would normally never bring my parents into an argument about familial relations, but you are correct on both counts.  Also, they have already done the deed, if unwittingly.”

 

“With any luck, she may have already...become with child,” Davos mused.

 

Another sigh emanated from the dwarf.  “Not as she tells it.” On Davos’ look, he explained, “The queen became pregnant by her first husband, but due to the magic of a sorceress, she says she will never carry a child again.  Daenerys feels it is hopeless.”

 

“And do you believe it?”

 

“I try not to,” Tyrion admitted.  

 

“Then neither shall I.  And by the looks of it, at least before we got here, if Jon is aware of the fact, he’s trying his damndest to prove her wrong as well.”

 

They shared a chuckle at that, Tyrion raising his glass.  “Let us make a toast,” he said, “To the King in the North and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.  May they fuck as long as they wish, and try to unite their kingdoms by a child if nothing else.”

 

“Here, here,” Davos said, clinking glasses.  After each took a healthy swig, though, he remembered something.  “If it does happen, they will marry. Jon grew up a bastard and I know he swore to never allow such a status for his own child.”

 

The smaller man shook his head.  “While I do not doubt they will marry should we get so lucky, the Queen intends to break the wheel, change the world so that there are no, or at least few, stigmas remaining.”  Then Davos saw a strange look on his face, one that rang of...satisfaction? “And concerning such a stigma, she has approached me about a friend of yours.”

 

“A friend?”  The Onion Knight wasn’t sure who was being referenced.  

 

“The blacksmith, Robert’s bastard.”

 

He pursed his lips at that, the memory of a stubborn, reckless youth doing the exact opposite of what he had been told.  “I wish to apologize, my lord, for the thoughtlessness of revealing his identity. It was impressed upon him to keep his mouth shut.  Unfortunately, he didn’t listen too well.”

 

Tyrion waved him off.  “The Queen was more delighted to know she still had some blood relations remaining, even if it was a distantly related, bastard Baratheon.  And, as such, as he has shown himself to be a man of honor by journeying beyond the Wall, by pledging his services at least to our cause and since all the remains of his family are deceased, the Queen wishes to bestow upon him the lordship of Storm’s End and all that goes with it.”

 

Davos thanked the gods he had no liquid in his mouth because he would have doused his companion from the shock of it.  “Say again?” he asked to make sure he had heard correctly.

 

Tyrion looked perturbed but repeated himself.  “Queen Daenerys intends to reconstitute House Baratheon with Robert’s one remaining bastard and set him up as the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.”  He rolled his eyes, explaining further, “It isn’t such a strange decision. Orys Baratheon was himself a bastard brother of Aegon the Conqueror, remember.”

 

“It’s not that, my Lord.  It’s just...I don’t know if the lad will even accept it.”  But something about the intention amused Davos greatly. Gendry had nearly been sacrificed for his blood by his uncle and now was being set up to inherit everything.

 

“Well, between the queen and I, I think he can be convinced.  I feel I owe it to him as much as Daenerys,” Tyrion said. “Just as I started my tenure as Hand to Joffrey, he and my sister ordered all of Robert’s bastards killed.  It was by luck, and a Spider, that Gendry avoided the same fate as all his siblings. I even sent the Lord Commander of the Goldcloaks to the Wall for murdering a babe at her mother’s breast.”

 

“Gendry of House Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands,” Davos said, trying it on his tongue.  “The lad’ll shit himself when he’s told. But I still say it won't be as easy as you think.”

 

“Place a wager on it?” Tyrion asked slyly.

 

“When I get something to wager, you’re on,” he replied.  “Now, the hour is late and I am well inebriated. We can pick this conversation up in the morning when we meet again.”  With one last nod of his head, he left the hall, headed for his bed.

 

It was on his way up that he decided to stop in and check on Jon.  Approaching the door, he checked to listen for any particular sort of noises.  Hearing none, he knocked.

 

Jon opened the door in merely his tunic and trousers.  “Beggin’ your pardon for the late hour your Grace, but I wanted to check in on you,” Davos asked.

 

Jon opened the door wider, allowing him entry.  After Davos stepped in, Jon shut the door. “What were your parents, Ser Davos?”

 

While the question caught him off guard, he understood from whence it came.  “My father was a crabber, if you’ll remember our meetin’ with Lady Mormont. My mother was a seamstress.  Made all my clothes even after I was grown. Even lived long enough to sew Marya’s wedding dress.”

 

Jon moved back to the bed, still a mess of papers.  He remembered mention of letters discovered in the tomb of Lyanna Stark.  Jon stared at them sadly. “All my life, I believed I was the son of Lord Eddard Stark.  A bastard, to be sure, but his son nonetheless. I always begged him to know the name of my mother.  Never in my wildest dreams did I think she could be the answer.”

 

A memory caught Davos.  “Stannis never believed the story about Lord Stark fathering a bastard.  He made light of it to his wife when she questioned his interest in you,” he tried to comfort.  “He told the lie to protect you, son. Any man would do the same.”

 

“But this changes so much!” he declared.  “By all rights, I am destined to sit on the Iron Throne.  And I don’t want to!”

 

Davos grimaced.  “Life rarely gives us what we want.  Sometimes, our fate is written by the gods themselves.”  Then he saw his opening. “What do you want, your Grace?”

 

“What?”  The question sounded dumbstruck.

 

“It’s rather a simple question:  What do you want?” Davos crossed his arms, awaiting a response. 

 

“I want my family to be safe, from what’s about to fall on us, what awaits us in the South.  I want to be able to not fight,” he replied.

 

“Is there anything else?  Is there anyone else?”

 

It seemed with that, Jon caught on.  “The way I was raised, it feels wrong.”

 

“That’s not the way to think of it,” he said.  “It would have seemed wrong for your parents, being who they were.”  He saw the protest about to start up. “I know the pain their love brought everyone.  And I believe they knew it was well. The Princess Elia, for example.”

 

Jon actually snorted.  “Not from what I read,” he told Davos.  Picking up a letter, he read aloud:

 

_  “My dearest heart, _

_ I know I should be shocked at your lady wife’s decisions, but in truth, I am not.  Gods love the Dornish and their different ways!  _

 

_ Still, I cannot help feeling I am usurping her place.  It was never my intention, never my wish. Family is everything to us.  To chose to set it aside is unreal, alien. And yet, she chooses it freely.  She chooses to let you go because you love another. No woman would willfully think that.  They would fight to save their union, commit horrible crimes if it keeps their partner at their side.  (I can think of one lady who would surely go to such lengths to keep you.) _

 

_ If it were within the graces of either of our faiths still, I would choose to share you, for she is a rare woman.  Yes, I would go with such choices for you. You always speak of you ancestor Aegon in such admiring terms. And I would be willing even to be your Visenya, and Elia your Rhaenys. _

 

_ Convey my good wishes to Elia when you see her and give kisses to the children I cannot.  I will see you soon, and with the blessings of our gods, we shall be together. _

 

_ Yours, _

_ Lyanna _

 

“Ah, well.  As your mum said, the Dornish,” Davos muttered.  After a minute, he decided to add, “I still stand by what I say.  If you want to love her, love her. I just had a long conversation with Lord Tyrion.  I know, I know.” His instinct said Jon was about to make a comment about that. “But, if that is where your heart leads you…”

 

“I thought highborn marriage wasn’t based on love?  That was why my brother’s fate was sealed. He married a woman he loved, not the one duty prescribed.”

 

He shrugged.  “Normally, they are not.  But once in a great while, love and duty fit together hand in glove.”

 

Jon sighed.  “There’s also the lords to think about,” he said.  “I don’t see them taking to the idea of a marriage with a Southron queen who is also my aunt.”  Then he looked at Davos with the sorrowful eyes. “You and Tyrion have already discussed this?”

 

“In abstract terms, yes,” Davos admitted.  “I’m not so learned in such matters, but her Hand has some ideas of ways to go about it.”  He looked at Jon with a note of concern. “Unless you are dead set against it?”

 

Jon picked up another letter.  “‘Love is the death of duty’, Maester Aemon told me.  That is what I fear when I think about loving her. That I will be shirking my duties as king to be with her.  I was a bastard crowned a king. I was given a duty to serve those who named me as such. And yet, all my life, I did my duty, what I was told.  I stayed out of the way, apart from my family. Then I did my duty to the Night's Watch, gave my life for them. And then, all this.”

 

“There’s no shame in being a bit selfish, your Grace.  And especially for a lad like you. We don’t know how much time we have here, even without the extraordinary situations we are finding ourselves in at this moment.  But, I strongly believe, if you find any form of happiness, you have a right to snatch it as soon as you can.”

 

“She says she can’t have children.  She told me when we were waiting for Tyrion to return from his discussion with Queen Cersei.”  Jon grimaced as he remembered. “Isn’t it the duty of a king and queen to continue their line? And if she is right, if she cannot…”

 

“Would it be a dealbreaker?  Could you love her even if it’s not to happen?”  But from what Jon had already said, Davos knew the answer.  “Besides, Tyrion does not think it is true anyway. And, if you’ll allow me, I’d say you were of a similar opinion on the way here.”

 

Jon’s cheeks blushed brightly, but he didn’t deny anything that was said. In fact, it looked like something was finally getting through to the young man.  He didn’t look so melancholy as he normally did. Davos thought of a way to possibly lighten his mood even further. “Lord Tyrion and I discussed another matter, one he seems to have brought up to Her Grace.  It’s about Gendry.”

 

“Is this about Storm’s End?” Jon asked.  Davos’ expression must have registered surprise because Jon laughed.  “Ever since we had that discussion where he told of his adventures with Arya, I had a feeling it was an idea to be explored.  I don’t feel I’d have the authority to bestow such a thing, though.”

 

“And what would your lady sister think of such a thing?”  Jon threw him a confused look. “The Lady Arya, your Grace.”

 

“Don’t let her hear you speak such a thing to her.  Arya spent her childhood trying to avoid becoming a lady.  You may be stuck with Needle if she hears you,” Jon chuckled.  “As to what she would say about Gendry...I have no idea. But, even if it does not come to pass, I think it would matter little to Arya.  As I said, it was what she ran from, the life of a typical highborn woman.”

 

“She succeeded, if Lady Brienne is to be believed,” Davos muttered.  “In any case, I shall make certain to keep abreast of that situation.  And on the other matter, it might be a good idea if you spoke to Queen Daenerys.  Tyrion is planning on discussing this matter with her, so I would wait to see which way the wind blows from that.”

 

Jon nodded in agreement.  “Thank you, Ser Davos. You have become a good advisor, and a better friend.  I shall take what you said to heart.”

 

Davos nodded and bowed.  “Then I’ll wish you a good night.  It’ll be another long day tomorrow, best I get some rest.  And you too, your Grace.” Without another word, Davos left the room.

 

As he headed back to his own quarters, he let out a sigh of relief.  It seemed to be coming together easier than he ever expected.

  
  



	13. Tyrion II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confrontations with a queen, conversations with a bear and conspiring with a former wife. Lord Tyrion has a busy day ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am still here! I am sorry about my absence, but between writer's block, losing my beta, temperatures warming up, a number of my own favorite stories being updated, discovering new stories and a little movie that was released last week, my writing has fallen by the wayside. And I don't see it getting any better, unfortunately. My thinking is, however, that I am going to try concentrating on one story, this one, for a bit. I'm actually coming close to to the end here, so for the time being, "From There to Here" will most likely be my prime concern. If you read my other works, I will publish new chapters tomorrow and Sunday, and work on them here and, well, there.
> 
> Again, I am soooo sorry for the delay. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

In the end, Tyrion awoke with a headache still. And he knew it would only grow when he approached what needed to be discussed with the Queen. He had a hope that she would be amenable to his suggestion, but he was unsure. The topic of marriage with Daenerys was fraught with a number of problems, the least of which was the succession to the throne once Cersei had been unseated. Still, it needed to be discussed, so he headed in the direction of her quarters.

On the way there, he went over the positives in his head. With a marriage, they could very likely rule their kingdoms independent of each other if need be. That may please the Northern Lords, who Tyrion did not see giving up power they had reclaimed to the South, even if the Targaryen forces, and dragons, fought on their side and the reigning king was more Stark than Targaryen. He had seen a number of looks their party received at the feast the evening before. The only time they cheered for her was when she released Samwell Tarly from his Night’s Watch oath and named him Lord of Horn Hill once more.

Another good thing to come from a marriage between Jon and Daenerys was it would more likely than not be taken as a sign to the North that there was some forgiveness for Targaryens. Tyrion realized most of the lords still did not have the full story about Rhaegar and Lyanna. He had noticed a few times that Lady Sansa, in particular, had friendly to Daenerys. Knowing his former wife, she could be prickly about people, but if the North saw the Lady of Winterfell in the company of the Dragon Queen, it would show that it was not just Jon who had taken to Daenerys, setting aside whispers she had seduced him. 

But the best reason he could see for them marrying was that they did love each other. Tyrion had his suspicions that it had been fairly soon after their first meeting that the spark had been lit for the both of them. Neither tried to hide their feelings before they left Dragonstone. And if there were any lingering doubt among their advisors, those were put to rest on the journey North.

His arguments prepared, he knocked at the door the rooms the Queen had been given and was greeted by Missandei. She had wedged herself between the door and the sill. “Lord Tyrion,” she said, a hint of surprise in her voice. “Are you here already to see the Queen?”

Tyrion narrowed his eyes. “Well, I would prefer to be back in my bed, warm and comfortable, but there are matters I feel I need to speak with Her Grace about,” he said.

“Queen Daenerys is not ready to receive visitors. My apologies, but she did not sleep well,” she told him.

He tried to look around the woman, but his short stature defeated him more than usual. “Is she unwell?” he asked concerned. The scribe said nothing more, causing him more alarm. “Missandei…?”

She looked behind her and he realized Daenerys must have sought her attention. “Please wait, Lord Tyrion.” Then the door closed in his face.

This did precious little to calm him. Now he was getting images in his head of Daenerys abed, weakened, maybe even dying. “No!” he said aloud to himself. “Just my own worry. There is nothing wrong with her.”

As if to soothe him, the door opened once more and Daenerys herself, seated at a vanity, nodded at him to enter. She looked healthy if maybe a shade of green. There was a tiredness in her eyes, but she did not, herself, seem worried about it. The queen looked to Missandei, who nodded and let them be.

When the door close again, Tyrion ventured the first word. “Your Grace, Missandei said you felt unwell.”

“Yes, apologies my lord. I must have eaten something that did not agree with my stomach last night,” she assured him. “But I am recovering.”

Tyrion thought back to last evening’s feast. He remembered a quick glance at her plate, still full of food. “If I recall correctly, you didn’t touch much of the meal that was served,” he told her. She merely shot him a look and he understood the meaning. The topic was dropped. 

Which meant they had to move on to uncomfortable topic number two. “Have you spoke to Jon recently about…” He was unsure of how to phrase subject.

“About his parents?” she asked pointedly. He had the good grace to look embarrassed. “It had come up. He told me he had letters Rhaegar and Lyanna wrote to each other. I asked to read the ones written by my brother.”

With that said, his attention was drawn to a stack of parchments by the table next to her bed. Most were opened and probably read. The learned man that he was yearned to know what they contained. He never got the opportunity to meet the crown prince. If his sister had been able to marry him Tyrion suspected they would probably have gotten on well. But that never happened, thank the gods.

“He truly loved her,” Daenerys said. Tyrion looked at her as she continued. “He believed them to be soulmates and prayed to the Old Gods and the New for the day they would be able to be together with their child. Think of that, a Targaryen who prayed to gods.”

He remembered the number of times she had denounced any gods in his presence. The dynasty gave lip service to the Seven but more often than not did little else. “We find our comforts in strange places, so I understand the sentiment,” he told her.

She nodded. “What is it you came here so early in the morn to speak with me about? I doubt it is about the love my brother held for Lady Lyanna Stark.”

He smirked at her words. “Their love? No,” he began. “But the love of a Targaryen and a Stark?” He raised an eyebrow at that.

She let out a breath. “And has Jon spoken to you about our love, my lord? Because I can assure you, he has not to me. At least, not since our arrival at Winterfell,” she retorted. 

“He has needed time to absorb news of this magnitude. How would you react if the positions were reversed?” Tyrion winced internally, already knowing the answer to that question.

“If I learned my father was a different man from the one I know him to be? I would celebrate.” No, her answer was not unexpected.

“You did not have Ned Stark as a father. It’s something even I envy him for,” Tyrion said. “Jon’s entire...identity was tied up in being the Bastard of Winterfell. It was how even I greeted him when he landed on Dragonstone. And Ned Stark was perfect in everyone's eyes, even his Lady wife’s. She was never happy that he claimed a bastard, but they worked through it and went on to have four more children after the war ended.”

Daenerys seemed to understand. “He was proud to be known as the son of Lord Stark.”

“And now, the man’s most noble act, to protect the life of his sister’s son, to do so claiming him as his bastard, wipes out all of that,” Tyrion reasoned. “And on top of that, knowing the woman he loves is his aunt by blood, it is just one more truth he must cope with.”

“Sansa believes he will come to terms with all of it in the end,” the queen said.

Now his smile was genuine. “Lady Sansa is a wise woman indeed, even with her lack of years.” Even if he tried, he was not able to keep the admiration out of his tone. “And I believe she would agree with me. A marriage would be the ideal situation, on many fronts.” He needed to know one piece of information before he continued. “Tell me, do you want to marry him?”

“You said it yourself that a marriage alliance would be the best way to solidify my claim to the Iron Throne,” she reminded him. “Since we have returned, the number of eligible men has dwindled somewhat.”

Thinking on Dickon Tarly, a name that had passed through his mind when he first contemplated it, he had to agree. “There is always my brother Jaime,” he said, the only way he could think to lighten the conversation. “He wasn’t an option at the time. I’m still surprised he is now.” He was only answered with a look. “Then I ask again, if he asked, would you want to marry Jon Snow, or Jon Stark or Jaehaerys Targaryen, whatever name he chooses to go by?”

She did not answer his question directly, but what she did say gave it to him. “There is another consideration to think about,” Daenerys began. “When we left Dragonstone, I believed myself to be the last Targaryen and Jon to be the illegitimate son of the Warden of the North. A simple relationship, if anything progressed. But now I know there is someone who can carry on my family name after I am gone. I think you would agree, my lord, that it is better for him to marry another and keep alive any dragonblood remaining in this world?”

Damned woman! Tyrion sighed, knowing this would come up. “If he is the last, there is precious little remaining, I would say. He is only half-dragon, the other, of course, being wolf. I think it hardly enough to get Drogon or Rhaegal’s attention.”

She smiled at that. “Then you would be wrong. When I returned from the...battle against the Lannister forces, Jon was out on a cliff. Drogon landed in front of him and for a moment, I was unsure as to what he would do. I actually feared for the life of the King In the North in that instant.” She looked out the window as they both heard her son’s shriek. “But Jon lifted as bare hand to him and Drogon accepted it as if he were Jon’s wolf.” She paused, still awash in memories. “I should have realized there was something to that then.”

Not knowing how to respond to that, Tyrion replied, “You still have not answered my question, My Queen. If Jon asked, even with the possibility of no children, no heirs, would you accept?” He approached her, stood in front of her so she could not help but face him. “You have a chance to experience something rare--a marriage, for the benefit of politics, but with the truth of love. Those two are not likely to be achieved. Shouldn’t you grasp it if you can?”

But Daenerys Targaryen was many things, and one of them was stubborn. “Are there any other matters that need my attention, or was this the only one?”

“Your Grace--”

“Then we are done for now. I know there was to be a meeting of all our commanders before midday. I will see you then,” she interrupted, dismissing him.

He knew he would touch a nerve and he was not wrong. So he merely backed away from her, bowing as a lord should, and left.

He found his way to the Great Hall, where the meal to break fast was being served. There were not many people in the room, but he did notice Ser Jorah Mormont among the company. Thinking back to the conversation he just had, Tyrion liked the idea of taking a seat with him.

As per usual, Jorah did not seem entirely pleased to see him. But he was at least cordial. “I had not expected to be welcome back to the North so warmly.” 

“It took a good deal of explaining, but I am happy to see it pay off. And how is the Lady of Bear Island?” Tyrion asked.

“As fierce as her mother was,” he replied. “I thought she would be upset to know I refused Jon Snow when he offered to give Longclaw back to me. She said she was proud that it was carried into a battle that won back the North. She is certainly taken with the King.”

“He does seem to have that effect on the fairer sex,” Tyrion commented as he bit into a piece of fried bread. 

Jorah knew what he was talking about. “She loves him. I can tell by the way she looks at him. Once, it was a look I wished to see from her. But she is afraid.”

“That was the impression I got. She is struggling with her feelings and the duty she feels to her house, the desire for it to continue the Targaryen line,” Tyrion assessed. 

“They are the last. If she dies, he will have to continue the line,” Jorah said.

Something occurred to him. “You were with her when he first husband died, am I remembering correctly?” Jorah nodded. “What is the story with this witch’s curse? You don’t actually believe it!”

“The important thing to remember is, she believes it,” he said.

Tyrion harrumphed at that. He watched Mormont for the other man’s reaction to his next comment. “I get the impression Jon does not, however.”

He was surprised when the man said, “I concur. But that does not solve the problem for Daenerys. And from what I have been told, nothing ever happened with her lover in Meereen.”

Tyrion well remembered the handsome, golden Daario Naharis. “No, it did not, lending further credence to Her Grace’s belief.”

“You want her to marry King Jon,” Jorah stated.

“Either I am far too obvious, or you overheard Ser Davos and I last night,” Tyrion quipped. 

“Neither, my friend. I have experience in these matters. I know such a match is good strategy on many fronts. But, as I said before, if she has hopes to continue the dynasty, he would have to father children with another.”

“It is not unheard of, in their family. Aegon married one wife for duty and another for love,” he mused aloud.

“Then there is him,” Jorah reminded him. “He is just as stubborn as she and unaccustomed to the concepts of such closely related spouses as the Targaryen keep.”

Tyrion knew that too. He was just hoping that Ser Davos could work on that front. “Have you spent much time with Jon? Apart from your journey beyond the Wall?”

“No, I have not. But from that time, and our return to King’s Landing, I can tell you this. Was I her father, I would approve of Jon Snow for her. He is truly a man of rare nobility. It is like seeing Lord Eddard all over again,” Mormont remarked. “Something I never thought I would want to see again.”

Now the dwarf let out a sigh. Finishing his meal, he thought of who else’s counsel he could seek out on this matter. He knew who the best answer, he just hoped she would not be growing tired of him.

Asking a servant if they had seen Lady Sansa, he was directed to the godswood. Sansa was there, sitting under the ancient weirwood tree. He saw her looking so peaceful, he had no wish to disturb her. But he must have made enough noise that she called to him. “Something you wish to discuss with me, my lord?” she called out, making him turn on his heels. 

“I am sorry to if I am intruding on your prayers. It can wait, my lady,” he said.

She opened her beautiful blue eyes and smiled at him. “There have been other men who have broken the tranquility of this place, and I have resented them for that. In fact, two of them died, by my order, if not my hand,” she said, and he knew who she meant. But, putting him at ease, she added, “You I do not number among them.” 

He knew for certain who one of them was and could assume who the other was. “Ramsey Bolton deserved what punishment he was given. But Baelish?” He knew the man had to die, deserved it years before the fact. “In truth, I would have wished to be his judge. If for no other reason than to unburden your conscience with it.”

“It was no burden on me. In truth, I relished it. He was the source of all the anguish my family suffered these last years,” she admitted to him, and he had no doubt of her words. “He often said chaos is a ladder that men try to climb, but the fall from it kills them. Yet, he never counted himself among them.”

Now Tyrion drew closer, sitting on a snowy log. “He always assumed he was cleverer than everyone else. And he concocted a good game. If it had been anyone else, he may have won.” As if he were presenting something to her, he waved his hand. “But he went up against the Lady of Winterfell, in the winter. I would give no one odds in that scenario.”

She gave him a nod in thanks as she looked at her surroundings. “And as for the other man who has met my justice…” She looked far off as if caught remembering something. “This is a holy place to us in the North, you do remember that?”

He remembered her visits to the godswood in King’s Landing, especially after the news of her mother and brother. “I am aware, my lady,” was all there was to his reply.

“After we won Winterfell back, I was reluctant to return here because of the memories of my...wedding that took place here. But now I have been thinking there is a way to cleanse it.” There was a glimmer in her eye when she said that.

He had a thought what she was speaking of but decided it was better to test the waters before leaping in. “Have you? Pray tell, what would that entail?”

Now she gave him a smirk. “I have been speaking with Ser Davos. He said you two have a discussion last night after the feast. You talked about Jon and Daenerys and a marriage.” 

“We were,” he admitted. “There are a number of issues to sort out before anything definite can be said, but I have hope they can be resolved.”

She looked far off again, like a memory returning. “I have never thought of Jon marrying...anyone really,” she told him. “He always seemed destined for the Watch or that kind of life. When I got to Castle Black with Lady Brienne and Podrick, that was who I was expecting to see--the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. I wasn’t even expecting him to be pleased with seeing me.” She looked at him, like hammering home a point. “We were never close when we were growing up.”

“You are still his sister, and I am sure he missed you,” Tyrion assuaged her after a shot of jealousy coursed through his veins. 

She nodded. “When I got down from my horse, he had just come out of his quarters. He saw me and I watched him come to me. Then, and this is still a blur, we were in each other’s arms and crying. In that minute, I swore I would never let him leave my side again,” Sansa said. “But if I have to, it will be to Daenerys Targaryen. I know she loves him and I also know he loves her.”

“I agree,” Tyrion replied, “but that doesn’t solve the problems of dealing with two bull-headed people.”

She stood and walked over to him. “All the same, I think I should look into making plans. Preparations will be needed if we are to have a royal wedding, don’t you agree?”

“My lady,” he replied, “I have never agreed with a sentiment so greatly.”


	14. Arya II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya was saved by her memories of Jon. Now, she returns the favor and soothes him as he continues to absorb the truths about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am still here! Sorry for the extended delay. I've been battling a monstrous case of writer's block, compounded by a case of not much motivation to write. I've gotten through it to a point that I'm trying to resume weekly posts of this story. I see the light at the end of the story, even if I'm extending it a bit, so for the time being, I'm only working on this (maybe doing a little writing of the others, but nothing will be published with them for a while.)
> 
> I know someone has been asking for more Aya so my profound apologies to them in particular. So I hope you enjoy this one.
> 
> On another note, I've kinda lost my beta and am really looking for another one. If you have an interest in helping me, drop me a pm at fanfiction.net (username is MSquared79) or let me know here and I'll open my email address in my profile.
> 
> Again, thanks for your patience.

She had asked around the keep if anyone had seen Jon. Most answered with a brief no or a shake of the head. So, Arya tried to think like her brother. She knew he was still coping with the truth about his parentage. He had been holding it in well for now, but she knew him. He was like an arrow waiting to be sprung from a bow. He would need an outlet for those emotions. That was why she ended up in the crypts.

Arya had been correct. At the other end of the hall, amidst the stone statues of their ancestors, there was Jon angrier than she had ever seen him.

“Why couldn’t you tell me? When I was older, I would have understood why it needed to be a secret. But never once did you say anything!” he yelled at Ned Stark’s image. “And then that last day. You said you would tell me when we saw each other next. Did a part of you know you wouldn’t leave the South alive?”

That stung for Arya. She had been there in the capital with Father, watching him struggle. She didn’t know what it was that troubled him, but she could see the worry he wore. And then she remembered those days, the last days, Father imprisoned, Sansa trying to hide, Syrio sacrificing himself for her to escape. All of it came in a blur to her, up to being in the arms of Yoren as he told her not to look, hearing her sister’s screams.

The next sound she heard was a fist connecting with a pillar holding the ceiling up. Jon had punched it and now cradled his right hand in his left. This felt like the best time to approach him. “Did that make you feel better?” she asked.

He looked back to her, his face still red with anger. “I want to be alone,” he told her.

“Well, that seems like a bad idea to me, brother,” Arya retorted. “Especially if you broke your hand.”

“It’s not broken,” he muttered.

She walked over and grabbed the hand. Giving it a squeeze, she saw him wince. “Perhaps,” was all she said. Then she looked around. “I came here looking for you, you know. The day Bran told us.”

Now Jon looked around, his gaze falling briefly on his mother’s grave. “This was the last place I wanted to be that day. A part of me accepted, long ago, that my mother was dead. But I thought, at least, that I’d never had to confront it.”

“But when you did have to confront it, it was right here. It has always been here,” Arya finished, her voice one of understanding. “He did it to protect you.”

“I know that,” he growled at her. But Arya disagreed. At least a part of him understood just what their father had done and why he did it. Jon was right, though. There could have been ways of telling Jon, giving him that comfort, weren’t there?

Then he looked at her and she was eleven years old again. “At least I know just why we always got on so well. All of Winterfell said you were Lyanna Stark reborn.” He gave her a mirthless smile. “Except I think you’ll choose to marry a Baratheon.”

Her head snapped to glare at him. “What gave you that idea?” she nearly shouted.

He said nothing, but his grey eyes were alight with mirth. “I don’t know if there will ever be a time when I am not angry with him about this,” Jon admitted, looking back to their father’s effigy. “If he had just told, everything could have been so different. Lady Stark…”

Now anger flared in Arya. She remembered her mother, how she had been to Jon. Arya loved her mother, but those were the times she hated her the most. “You’ve been wanting to spar with me, haven’t you?” she asked, breaking her own thoughts.

He nodded towards Needle. “I have wondered if you got any better with that thing. I’m kind of surprised you haven’t gotten yourself injured with.”

“Then let’s have a go. We both have emotions that are best worked off in the yard.” It wasn’t a suggestion. She knew he needed an outlet, after hearing just a little of Jon’s rant to the ghost of their father. Not saying anything further, she turned her back to him and left the crypts.

He followed her, as she knew he would. They headed to the training yard, occupied currently with a few young people practicing, but also Jaime Lannister, Brienne of Tarth, Podrick Payne and Ser Bronn. She chose to ignore the lot of them, her focus only on her brother.

Jon reached for a sparring sword, but Arya merely unsheathed Needle. He seemed cautious as he watched her. “I have heard a little of your skill, so I would feel more comfortable using blunted edges.”

“You gave me Needle, you wanted to see how I’ve progressed,” she told him. Then, with a nod of her chin, she indicated to the sword still at Jon’s hip. “And I want to see you with that Valyrian steel sword.”

That got the attention of the sellsword. “You afraid of a little girl?” he asked in a mocking tone.

“I’d watch it if I were you, Ser. She’s rather good with that thin sword of hers,” Brienne warned.

“And she did kill House Frey,” Jaime reminded him. Arya winced when she heard that. Not that she was ashamed, no; she just wasn’t sure if Jon knew the extent of that.

Mercifully, he didn’t seem to hear that. All Jon did was raise an eyebrow. But he put the sparring sword down and grasped the pommel of Longclaw.

Arya couldn’t help but admire it. She’d heard comments around Winterfell about it, even asked Lady Mormont during one of their sessions. She figured Jon would have returned the sword to House Mormont and wondered why he had not. “It’s called Longclaw, right?” she asked. Her brother nodded. “How did it come into your possession?”

Pulling it from the scabbard, he explained, “I saved the life of the Lord Commander. He gave it to me as a sign of his gratitude. Said his son left it behind when he left Westeros. I tried to return it, but Ser Jorah refused.” Then he looked at her. “You sure?”

Now she gave him a feral smile. “By all means, Your Grace,” Arya replied.

Their fighting stances set, she and Jon danced in a circle, neither making for the other. They were both looking for the right opportunity to strike. Arya knew to wait him out. Jon was always great with the sword but had the tendency to grow impatient. And then it happened, just as she knew it would.

Jon lunged at her, bringing the bastard sword down. She easily avoided the weapon, ducking under the swipe. But just then, it came at her once more, and she was forced to block. Jon looked like he approved. “You have an advantage, for once, being smaller,” he commented.

“You’re not so big yourself,” she retorted. Then she stepped back, holding Needle behind her. Jon looked at her curiously but made another thrust. She shifted from one side to the next, easily avoiding him again. But just like before, he attacked her side. “Where did you learn how to use that anyway?” he asked, swords clanging at their parry.

“Here and there. Father had a swordmaster instruct me in King’s Landing, before…” Her voice trailed and Jon said nothing further. “Syrio Forel, the First Sword of Braavos. Later, in my travels, I went there to...continue what he started.”

“And learn in the House of Black and White?” another voice asked.

Jon must have thought hearing the question would make her slip, but she smoothly moved out of the path of Longclaw. She stopped and saw Sandor Clegane standing with the adults. Arya knew the Hound had come with her brother and the Dragon Queen, but since that day they all arrived, she hadn’t seen much of him and wasn’t particularly looking for him.

Since she hadn’t answered his question, he added another. “That how you killed the Frey cunts? With what you learned there?”

Arya and Jon stopped their mock-skirmish. She looked from Clegane back to her brother, as well as noticed any other discussion on their side of the yard had stopped. Nothing was said until Jon asked, “That was you?”

She saw the look in his eyes. He was horrified to think of what she had done, but she bit back, “It was nothing less than they deserved. I was there, Jon, I saw…” Her voice broke, once more the scared little girl who was ready to run and help her mother and brother. She tried to regain her control as she asked, “Do you know what they did to Robb? To my mother?”

Jon looked at the ground, as if searching his memories. “I...Sam told me he was betrayed by Walder Frey and Roose Bolton, that Bolton stabbed him through the heart.”

That told Arya he didn’t know everything. She was about to answer when the Hound interrupted her. “Robb Stark’s head they cut off,” he said, “and topped his body with the head of his wolf. They paraded him around on a horse, mockingly calling him the King in the North.” Jon’s eyes went wide and looked at her.

“Arya…” He made a move to her, to embrace her, but she stepped back.

“I heard...I heard elsewhere that they slit Mother’s throat, and they threw her body into the river for her ‘funeral’.” She couldn’t look at her brother, not while she was still seeing Robb and what they did to him.

“Walder Frey, he bragged to me after we retook Riverrun,” Jaime said so quietly, his voice could barely be heard, “that Bolton said to Robb, ‘the Lannisters’ send their regards’. My father arranged all of it. I only found out after I made it back to King’s Landing with Lady Brienne.”

“He had nothing to do with the Red Wedding, your Grace. I can vouch for him,” Brienne said, confirming Jaime.

“You got her out of there?” Jon asked the Hound. “You got her to safety?”

Sandor looked at her. “She tried to run into the fight, to try and get to her mother and brother but I...stopped her. I carried her away, hoping she didn’t see anything.”

“Thank you,” Jon replied to Clegane. Then he went on the attack again, this time aiming at Lannister.

The Kingslayer was caught off-guard, at least momentarily, but regained enough footing to defend himself. Then he seemed to relish the fight. He and Jon locked swords a number of times, less gracefully than Arya had fought him.

Jon said nothing during the exhibition, but Jaime made a few cocky comments. “I see you really are that good with a sword. Glad I get the chance to see, and not when my life is at stake.” That was answered by a wide slash that nearly sliced Jaime’s arm. He battled back with a kick to Jon’s midsection. Jon was able to roll off that back to his feet. He leaped up, charged again, and gained an advantage

“Better than my father?” Jon asked.

Watching them, Arya knew who he meant, but Jaime stepped back to take a breath and an appraising eye. “Rhaegar was good. From what I was told, he got a late start. Was too into his books to think about being a warrior,” Jaime replied. “But when he did...he was very good. Better than Ned Stark, oh most certainly.” That seemed to shock Jon because he stopped entirely. Arya thought her brother was gearing up for another round, but instead, he took five steps back and then left the yard.

Jaime had the good sense to look regretful for his mistake. Arya wanted to take out Needle and take on Lannister but also wanted to run after her brother and see to him. She decided on the latter, but not before throwing Jaime a vicious look that he appeared to be scared of.

Arya saw him head away from the crypts and back to the Keep. “Jon!” she called after him. But he ignored her. She ran to catch up to him and at last got to him before he entered his room. “Jon, wait!”

It was surprising when he didn’t stop her entry. He just continued on his way, dropping Longclaw on his desk. She went in and looked around. “Been a lot of years since I was in your room,” she said to him.

Looking out the window, he acknowledged her with, “You always hid from your mother or Septa Mordane here. Usually under the bed.”

She laughed at that, a genuine one that made her sound like the child she once was. “Remember the time you and Robb were in here and the septa demanded I come out. The two of you both were insistent that I was not here, coming up with all these crazy places to go look for me.”

“I think she actually looked in all those places. And then at dinner that night, you showed up, acting all innocent,” Jon responded, but still wasn’t facing her.

She walked up beside him, her fingers brushing against his upper arm. “Jaime Lannister is an idiot,” she said to him. “He shouldn’t have said--”

“He’s not wrong.” That was all Jon said. Arya knew he was right, that Jaime was right.

“Even if you sprang from Rhaegar Targaryen’s seed, it was Ned Stark who raised you,” she reminded him.

He let out a humorless laugh. Without meeting her eyes, he reached over the desk and handed her a letter. “It was written by Aunt--by my mother.” He handed it to her to see for herself.”

_My beloved husband,_   
_I have missed you every day that you have been gone, but today, my loneliness was greater. Today, I felt our babe kick for the first time._

_It was a strong_ one, _as if spurring on a horse (now I know how all my mounts have felt!). I so wish you could have been here to feel it with me. I know you have been beside the mother of your children twice-over, but I do long for you to be with me. I have many fears, as I know what could happen to me, and if you were here, I know you could put such fears to rest._

_And do not think I am still not displeased with you for leaving me here. If you would have let me, I would have wanted to be by your side as you make your way north. I have much to atone for in the chaos that has engulfed our land. One of my great fears is that I have displeased the gods so greatly, I will never be able to make up for what has happened. Forgiveness is not something I can ask for from a tower in the deserts of Dorne._

_When the child is born, know that I will be by your side as soon as I can. You must come back to me, my love, so we can heal our land together._

_Always,_   
_Lyanna_

“I was always Rhaegar Targaryen’s son,” Jon said. “All my life, I thought he didn’t have me legitimized because your mother would have thrown a fit. But he never intended for me to be a Stark. ‘You don’t have my name, but you have my blood’ was what Ned Stark always told me. He never truly saw me as his.” He let out a deep sigh, before turning back to her. “So Ser Jaime is right to compare me to my true father.”

Arya took one last look at the letter before setting it down, moving to stand in from of Jon, and slapping him across the face. It set him back a step or two from the sheer force of it. When he recovered from the shock, she met him with a hard stare. “That’s for being stupid.”

“Arya--!” he cried in a tone she hadn’t heard since she was a child fighting with Sansa.

But he wasn’t going to get a word in. “You were just as much Father’s son as Robb, Bran or Rickon. He was absolutely thinking of Mother’s reaction when he chose not to give you his name,” she berated him. “Which was wrong of Mother. And it was wrong of Father to never tell her, or any of us, you most of all.” Then she threw her arms around him like she had that last day at Winterfell. “You’ve always been my brother, you’ll always be my brother and you have always been and will always be Ned Stark’s son. And don’t ever believe anything different!”

“Or you’ll slap me again?”

Now she gave him a feral smile just like the one in the yard. “You don’t want to think about what I’d do,” she said.

He nodded in understanding. Then he sat down. “We haven’t properly talked since I’ve been back,” he said, “and from things said, I think we need to have it now.” Arya shifted uncomfortably, but awaited his questions. “What did Clegane mean about how you killed...House Frey? The House of Black and White?”

She looked down at the floor, regretful now about having done it. Not because she regretted the action itself, it was just she never thought she’d have to face her family, Jon especially, with the killings done. However, if anyone was owed an answer, it was this brother. “The Faceless Men, they’re assassins. I met one when I was captured at Harrenhal. He killed some men for me and then gave me a coin that I was to bring to Braavos if I decided to go there. I was trained with poisons, and how to properly fight.”

“So that’s what you are now?” He looked so sad at that thought.

But she shook her head. “No, I...did not complete the training, not entirely. I was sent to kill a woman, who was only wanted dead because she was a lead actress and her understudy was jealous. They tried to kill me for not completing my task.” Arya just shrugged her shoulders. “I killed the one they sent and told them I was going home. I realized I could never give up being Arya Stark. I tried to get rid of all my things, but,” she touched Needle, at her side, “it was your gift I could never throw away.”

“And the Freys?”

Pleasure graced her face at the memories. “When I came back to Westeros, I went to the Twins. I impersonated a maid, with one of the Faces I took from the House of Black and White.” Jon’s brow furrowed, trying to understand what she as talking about. She waved him off, not wanting to get into those details just yet. “I killed his sons, the ones who killed Mother and baked them into a pie. Then I fed the pie to Lord Frey, before revealing my identity and slitting his throat. Then, wearing his face, I held a feast, toasted the whole of House Frey for the way they wiped out...the way they killed Talisa, and Mother, and all our bannermen breaking guest rights. I had the wine poisoned and they all drank it.”

He got up from the seat beside her, trying to take it all in. “I would have gone south, to King’s Landing and killed Cersei, but I was told you had won Winterfell back and been crowned King in the North. So I came home.” She stood next to him. “You saved me a second time, Jon.” She embraced him again, but he didn’t return it immediately. She was afraid, so afraid, he would not want to look at her again, knowing what she had just said.

Then he enveloped her in his arms. “I beat Ramsey Bolton bloody, would have killed him with my bare hands if Sansa hadn’t come into the courtyard. What he did to her, killing Rickon when I was so close to saving him...I understand the need to exact revenge.” He pulled back to look her in the eyes. She knew what he was searching for, the little sister he left all those years ago. “You scare me, I won’t deny that. But also understand you.”

Arya smiled at him, shyly like she often did when she was younger. She knew their relationship would never be the same, never be what it once was, but in the understanding they shared, well, that was something to build up from.


	15. Jaime II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime realizes he needs to have an important talk with the Queen. But during it, a problem arises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey readers! Happy Canada Day to you up there and an early Happy Fourth to my fellow Americans! I'm slowly getting my writing groove back, but its still coming in bits and starts. However, I decided that since it's near 100 degrees now where I am, I thought it would be good to post some more if you're still sticking with me. Hope you enjoy this. It's a little pause before we start to get to the big show.

“You know, since I’ve been here, I haven’t really seen our King there get too mad,” Bronn commented, “but I should have figured it was you to tip him over.”

Jaime thought the sellsword had a point. He thought it would be more over his younger brother, or the attack he led against Ned Stark in King’s Landing. Hells, he even believed he would be blamed for the Red Wedding. But mentioning Rhaegar Targaryen was not something he thought Jon Snow would pick up a sword against him over.

It seemed the boy was quite affected by the news of his parentage. He had not been very present since he returned to his home and heard his cousin tell him about his birth. He brooded mostly, from what Jaime could tell. Ironically, he was like his sire in that. No, the King in the North had not inherited his looks from his father by blood. He had dark hair and light eyes, whereas Rhaegar was light-haired and dark-eyed. But their temperaments were the same, quiet, kept to themselves, a long time to anger.

He shook himself out of his musing when Bronn added, “You and your way with words,” before leaving the yard. And yet, he meant it as a compliment, even if it was anger that Jaime had stoked. 

Brienne came over to him, a look of concern on her face. “You knew His Grace’s father?” she asked.

“I was Kingsguard,” he replied, “so, yes, our paths crossed.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. You know enough about him to perhaps tell his Grace. There are so few left who can tell him about Prince Rhaegar. It may…”

Jaime laughs at that. “You saw how he reacted when I accidentally compared him to his sire when I am sure he thought I spoke of Lord Stark. And it was true, he fights just like Rhaegar.”

“You must understand. He worshipped Lord Stark,” Brienne told him, as though he did not already know that. “I cannot imagine what it must have felt like to have been told this paragon held fast to a myth.”

“It needed to be done,” Jaime reasoned. “If the slightest hint got out, Robert would have killed the boy, and then the whole of House Stark, with my father leading the vanguard. It would have made the Rains of Castamere look like a stroll through a garden.”

It seemed then that Brienne remembered something. “You were there when Robert was shown the bodies of Rhaegar’s two elder children?”

That was another nightmare that haunted him. “If not for the fact that Ned Stark wanted my head for what I did to Aerys, I think I would have seized my own father for that crime. It was the one time I admired Ned Stark’s honor, until now anyway. And I envy every one of his children, for the father they were blessed with.”

“My father tried, he truly did. He loves me, I know, but it could not have been easy with a daughter like me,” she admitted.

“You are an extraordinary woman, my lady. Any father would be proud of you.” He left her with that thought, heading to the keep, but his way was stopped by a large man with red hair and an unkempt appearance. He threw a look towards Brienne before returning his attention to Jaime, must have noticed they had spoken. “Some woman,” he said.

Jaime looked back and saw the scowl on the lady knight’s face. Podrick Payne had made an offhand comment about a wildling who had taken to the Maiden of Tarth from when the Starks had set off to defeat the Boltons. This must be that man. “You are Tormund?” Jaime asked.

“Aye,” the man replied as he noticed the golden hand. “And you are the one they call Kingslayer? Lannister?” That title still had the power to make Jaime shudder, but he acknowledged it with a nod. “Why did you kill your king?” was the next question.

“He was prepared to destroy the capital, kill hundreds of thousands of people, as he was on the brink of defeat,” came the reply. Jaime paused as he added, "And he wanted me to kill my own father."

“You faced the dragon, faced the Queen?”

That memory was far worse than the night of the sack. It was still unbelievable to him the destruction wrought when Daenerys Targaryen unleashed her great black beast. He did his best to mask his alarm from the memory, but he didn’t think he was successful. “Yes, I faced the dragon, and, rather foolishly, tried to attack the Queen. I was nearly cooked alive for the attempt.”

This conversation was making Jaime realize he had not yet had a conversation with another person he had wronged who was at Winterfell. And with her, it was at least twice over. But he doubted Queen Daenerys would be as forgiving as Bran Stark, even if Tyrion spoke up for him. 

As if by magic, he noticed that woman walking along with Lady Stark, Ser Jorah Mormont a few paces behind the women. He excused himself and made his way to catch up to them. When he did, Jaime stopped and bowed his head formally. “Your Grace, Lady Stark.” He turned his attention solely to the Targaryen girl. “Queen Daenerys, I think it is time we spoke to each other. I am trying to ease any tensions my presence here may be causing.”

“And you wish to discuss them now?” Daenerys said. When he nodded, she turned to Sansa, asking to continue their conversation later. Sansa bowed and left them. 

As they walked for the privacy of her quarters, he knew all the directions this conversation could go. He knew that the demons of his past would not allow him a moment’s peace here in the North, not if he continued to ignore them. It was the only way to face his future with any measure of honor he could hold onto. Still, he smiled and nodded as they walked back to her quarters.

Daenerys left Mormont in the passage, then took a seat. She was gracious enough to offer him one, but he turned it down. “If I am to face up to my crimes, I think it best I do so standing,” he explained.

“You do believe you have committed crimes, Ser Jaime?” she asked.

“Yes, I know my crimes,” he answered. “They call me the man without honor because I am guilty of them all. And the only way I can hope to regain that which I have lost is to face up to them, and their consequences.” He paced the room, trying to figure out where to begin, even if it seemed obvious. “I committed regicide when I was sworn to protect that king. I conspired with my sister, for years, on any number of plots to bolster the power of my house. I stood beside her, when she murdered hundreds of people, in a crime I sought to stop with my crime of regicide. I tried to kill a young boy to keep a secret I knew could destroy my family.”

“Why did you commit them in the first place, since you knew they were wrong? You were once a man with honor or am I wrong?”

He found something humorous in that question. “I did them because I thought I was being honorable, ironically. But we both know I lost my honor because of them, your Grace.” 

“Do you regret it?” she asked next. “Killing my father?”

No, he did not, “I regret not doing it sooner. But all seven of us, we swore the same vow, to protect the king no matter what,” he sighed. “Then I found my breaking point. And it was not even his order to kill my own father, but the thought of thousands of innocents dying because of a madman.”

There was a long pause after he said that. Perhaps she was thinking about her own father’s crimes. Eventually, she said, “And then your sister did that very thing.” 

That was when he finally sat down. “We were returning from retaking Riverrun for the Freys when I saw the smoke billowing out of what remained of the Sept of Baelor. I knew that wildfire had done it and I thought I knew who were few to know where the rest of it was stored after the sack. Tyrion was the only one I was sure knew of it because he utilized it in the battle of the Blackwater against Stannis Baratheon. But there were always rumors about it and I was not surprised Cersei ferreted out the information.”

“And it was because of this love that you stood by her for so long?” 

“We came into this world together,” he reasoned. “I never thought there would be a day we would be apart. When my honor was already sullied, she still stood by me, even if I couldn’t stand the sight of myself. Until I could not take another broken oath and she threatened to kill me.” 

He looked at her, square in the eyes. “And now I think it time to delve into my final crime, because that is where all this,” he waved his hand around the room, “began.”

“And what is your final crime, Ser Jaime? You spoke of trying to kill a boy who knew a secret.” 

“Tyrion once told me that, while he was married, Sansa told him little bits about her family and the thing she said about her brother Brandon was, before his accident, he climbed all over this keep.” Jaime was no storyteller, was no Tyrion, who could weave a story with ease, but he felt the need to set the scene for Daenerys. “That was what he was doing that day, climbing up that tower over there. It was a quiet place for Cersei and me to…”

He didn’t need to finish that sentence. “He saw you,” she stated.

“I doubt he knew what he saw, but he saw us. Cersei panicked. And I, well, I noted to myself the height he was at. I said to Cersei ‘The things I do for love’.” He had only heard Bran say those words when he had sought the boy out and learn if he had discovered the truth. “I thought that was my greatest crime.”

“And you don’t anymore?” She stood suddenly as her voice took on an accusatory tone inflamed by the attitude she thought he took. “You tried to kill a child, and you did cripple him, and you no longer feel guilty for that?” She was literally trembling with anger.

“No, your Grace, I do still feel the guilt of my action. But Bran Stark does not fault me,” Jaime replied quickly, trying to calm her. “He said...he said that the fall needed to happen as if it were his destiny to fall.”

She took a step but seemed to sway. “And you think that justifies your actions?”

“Nothing justifies them, your Grace, I know that. But what he told me--” He never got to finish his sentence, because the young queen swayed again and began falling to the floor. It was only Jaime’s reflexes that slowed her before she collapsed on the floor. “Your Grace?” he yelled in a panic. His brain flashed back to the Dornish ship, and Myrcella dying in his arms. “Help!” he called. “The Queen needs help!”

Suddenly, the door flew open and Ser Jorah rushed in. Seeing his queen limp in Jaime’s arms, he did what any Queensguard would do. He went for Jaime. “What did you do to the queen?” he demanded, pushing him against a wall.

“Nothing, I swear!” he shouted. “We were merely talking and when she stood…”

As he was saying that, more people ran in, among them Tyrion, Lady Sansa, Lady Brienne and the Queen’s orator. Brienne took a quick look around the room. “I’ll get a maester,” she announced before rushing out.

Tyrion looked at Jaime. His brother knew how it looked. “I swear, I did nothing,” Jaime repeated, more calmly this time.

Brienne returned with the Winterfell maester and Lord Samwell Tarly. It was the latter who questioned Jaime. “Can you tell us what happened, Ser Jaime? Did she have anything to eat or drink while she was with you?” For one who had a nervous disposition, he was very calm right now.

“We were merely talking about...her father, Cersei, Bran Stark,” he answered. The last name was heard by Sansa and she threw him a dirty look, which he ignored. “And she did not eat or drink anything in my presence.” Jaime figured they were thinking he may have poisoned her. 

“She hadn’t eaten anything when we broke our fast either, Sam,” Sansa supplied.

Just then, Daenerys’ eyes fluttered open. “What...happened?” she asked weakly.

“You passed out, your grace, according to my brother,” Tyrion informed her. “That you were having a conversation and then you went limp.”

She tried to stand but the maester had her remain lying on the ground. She took a moment to look at Jaime. “He asked to see me,” she confirmed. 

Now the maester spoke up. “Your Grace, I think you will be more comfortable on your bed. Do you think you are well enough to stand and walk the few feet there?” 

“I am fine. None of you need to worry,” she said, trying to wave off any assistance.

“All the same, your Grace, I think it best to have the maester make sure that is true,” his brother piped up. He had told Jaime that the woman could be stubborn when it came to the care of herself.

Now she threw Tyrion a cross expression but must have decided in the end it was better to cooperate than argue. Jaime knew that feeling, Tyrion would win any disagreement. Still, she stood and with the maester’s arm offering stability, she walked to the bed and lay down. 

Jaime saw something in the older man’s face, prompting Tarly to fluster a bit. “I think it best we give them some space,” he said sheepishly, shooing most of the people out of the room. Only the orator and Lady Sansa stayed behind.

Once they were in the hallway, Jaime saw that the Queensguard had not stopped staring at him. Tyrion noticed too, but let out a jape. “Ser Jorah, I am well aware your ability to stare down a perceived enemy, but her Grace would surely have condemned him if he did try and harm her.”

The man made no reply, only stood next to the door, a sentry at his post.

Tyrion gestured for Jaime to follow him. As the two brothers left, Brienne must have felt the need to accompany them. That eased Jaime’s mind, as he had his two greatest defenders by his side, should he need them.

Tyrion led them to the rooms he had been given. They were not as spacious as would befit a man in his position, a thought Tyrion made light of. “Not very big, but I am small, so it is quite comfortable.” As always, he moved to the cart that held a wine carafe, pouring a glass for himself before looking to Brienne and him. The both of them shook their heads, so his little brother just sat at his desk. “Tell me what happened,” he commanded, sound for all the world like their father.

Jaime sighed. It was a position he had often been in with Lord Tywin, being ordered to explain his actions. Unaided, he remembered the last time the demand had been made to him with regard to a Targaryen. “It’s as I said, we were merely talking and she fainted,” he answered.

“What were you talking about?” Brienne asked, trying to gather as much of his side of the story as she could.

Now he smirked and saw Tyrion grow uncomfortable as he replied, “My crimes against her house and the Starks. Killing her father, trying to kill young Bran, my years of being Cersei’s shield for all her crimes.” He decided he needed that drink, after all, so he poured himself a glass before concluding with, “You know, all those cheery topics.”

For some reason, Tyrion relaxed when he said that. “Despite what our sister might say, you are not the stupidest Lannister, so I know you did not do anything to bring her Grace any harm. You must forgive Ser Jorah. He has great affection for the queen and takes her protection very seriously.”

“So noted,” Jaime said, taking a sip. He could see the wheels’ in his brother’s mind spinning, so he asked, “What do you think is wrong with her Grace?”

After finishing his glass and pouring another, Tyrion gave his answer. “I know what I hope it is.” He grimaced, then let out a sigh. “One of the things I have had to concern myself with since being named as her Hand has been, unfortunately, succession. One must think ahead in times of war and strife if the worst happens. And that, unfortunately, is something her Grace has not wanted to discuss. She has believed herself barren from the time of the death of Khal Drogo. Something about a witch cursing her, but I never had the full details. Mormont might,” Tyrion considered. “Whatever the belief, dear brother, it was not the calmest of journeys to get here by boat. We were all left with little sleep with all the racket going on in the Queen’s cabin.”

This was something Jaime didn’t really miss about his brother, but he had a feeling it was why he was a good politician; he had the ability to talk around the subject at hand. Whatever it was that he was aiming for, Brienne seemed to understand his meaning, because she was blushing furiously. 

Then Jaime remembered to three distinct times in the past twenty years, times after he and Cersei had been together. His eyebrow likely vanished in his hairline as he asked, “You mean Snow and the Queen?” When Tyrion nodded, he could not stop the quip from leaving his lips. “Well, rather Targaryen of them.”

“I will not say for sure,” the Queen’s Hand rushed to say. “She believes herself to be cursed and there has been nothing to dissuade her from that belief. But Gods know Jon Snow was trying to prove her wrong...every night.”

“My Lord!” Brienne’s voice was halfway between reprimand and shock. 

“Do I say a lie, my lady?” he shot back.

The Maiden of Tarth pursed her lips. “Before you began shouting for help in her chambers, Missandei was asking Lady Sansa for a tea to soothe the Queen’s stomach. When Lady Sansa was concerned with spoiled food being served, the woman explained that the queen had been eating little since they arrived and expelling whatever she ate the next morning,” she explained.

Jaime nodded unconsciously. “Each of the times Cersei carried a babe, she went through similar incidents.” Then a fact occurred to him. “Something she had not been suffering before I left King’s Landing.” 

He forced a smile when Tyrion patted his hand. He had told Tyrion of his suspicions a while ago, and now he had more proof to his belief.

The thought of another child lost, even one that had never existed, made Jaime grimace. “For a moment there, after she passed out, I thought of Myrcella,” he explained. “Did you know that...just before she died, she told me she knew the truth? That I was her true father, and that she loved me for it?”

“She was always the smartest of the children,” his brother reminded him, his eyes growing misty. Then he wiped away the tear and set his cup down. “I think it best if I go check on her Grace. See if anything has been diagnosed.”

Tyrion left Jaime and Brienne in the room alone. The woman moved closer to him, resting her hand on his shoulder. “I have not gotten the opportunity to express my condolences on the deaths of the princess and King Tommen.”

He saw Brienne’s eyes grow damp, and pressed his thumb to her cheek, chasing away the moisture. “That is more emotion than their own mother expressed,” he said. “Thank you.”

Now he turned to her fully, taking her face in his hands. He laid a soft kiss on her lips, something he had wanted to do for some time and now took advantage of. To his surprise, she did not pull away. Then they broke apart and remained in each other’s arms, the silence a comfort to him.


	16. Bran I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran gives Jon and Daenerys the most precious gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! And thank you for hanging in with me.
> 
> This chapter was the start of a lot of problems for me. It took me a while to get this put together in the way I wanted. The next two chapters were easy in comparison but I have hit another wall with Chapter 19. I wrote myself into the proverbial corner and am struggling to dig myself out of it still. But that'll be a few weeks down the line, less if I can pull it together.
> 
> The good news is, this is the turning point in the story. We're getting into the runup to the prologue and a new POV is added. Funnily enough, this chapter has scenes I first saw when I began. There was a meeting I wanted to do and successfully present herein.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! As always, leave comments. They help me so much as I continue my storytelling.

When Bran had first seen the events that took place at that tower in Dorne, the Three-eyed Raven did not allow him to see beyond his father’s battle with Ser Arthur Dayne and the other Kingsguard. Then, when he had revisited the scene, he followed the young Ned Stark to the top of the tower and witnessed the aftermath of birth of his Aunt Lyanna’s son. He could barely make out anything that was being said and because of that, did not hear the name the boy was given. 

After that, he followed the life of the baby, whom he would come to know as brother. He saw Jon being brought to Winterfell and the reaction he was met with by Lady Catelyn Stark. He saw the toddler’s first steps, as he and a boy no older than him pulled each other along. He saw Jon nearly felled by the pox. Ned Stark had wept, fearing the boy would die. When not at the child’s bedside, Bran had been surprised to see his lady mother there, praying to the Seven, making promises she never kept when Jon lived through the night. He saw Jon grow and mature, accept anything that was given to him with the grace of a noble king. 

But Bran had failed to look back, to before Jon’s birth, Lyanna’s death. He had returned to Winterfell with the knowledge of who Jon’s mother was, and the assumption of who his father was. Because he had been told the story so often, he did not want to see the abduction and rape of his aunt by Rhaegar Targaryen. It had never occurred to him that it was a story built on lies, constructed to chip away at the already teetering status of House Targaryen.

Not until Samwell Tarly had returned to Winterfell and told him of his discovery did Bran travel back. He witnessed the marriage of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen and then, moving forward, heard the name of their son. Only then did all the pieces fall into place.

With the thousand eyes he had been given as the Three-Eyed Raven, he saw Robert Baratheon, at the Trident, landing the killing blow on the crown prince. He heard the dying man’s last word, “Lyanna”, and its echo back to Dorne. Bran watched all the times the newly crowned king would scorn his kin, heaping one atrocity after another on the Targaryens, cursing their name through the years for what he lost...what he believed had been stolen from him. It was a bitter irony that not only had nothing been taken from him, but that he had not even remembered what it was he lost.

Bran knew that from the moment he had realized the truth about Jon, there would be pain for the remains of his family. He had, however, never anticipated how much further it would extend. He had never thought of the relationship that had grown between Jon and his aunt, Daenerys Targaryen. But grow it did, a seed planted and beginning to blossom.

This was the morning that would be known.

He had heard the commotion in the hall, people rushing past his door, calling for a maester. Queen Daenerys had fallen ill. It was first thought that Ser Jaime Lannister had done something to her, but she was quick to come to his defense. As Maester Wolkan, her handmaiden Missandei, and Bran’s sister Sansa fussed over her, Bran sent a raven to watch the scene from a window. 

“Your Grace, if I may ask,” Maester Wolkan stuttered in his attempt to gather information, “when was the last time you bled?”

The young queen looked somber. “It is no matter when last I bled. What you are thinking is impossible. I birthed a son years ago, a small, disfigured child who did not even draw breath. After that, I was told that I would never quicken with child again.”

Bran looked to the past and saw young Daenerys, begging a sorceress to use her power and restore the Great Khal to life. The woman had kept her word, Drogo had lived, and yet had not. When Daenerys burned his body, she tied the witch to a stake with the kindling. It was from the fire that the three dragons were born.

By the time Bran had returned to the present, the maester and the translator had left The Dragon Queen and the Lady of Winterfell alone. Sansa was trying to console the woman, trying to offer words of hope. They were ignored and Sansa was dismissed.

Bran called for the guard at his door and asked to be taken to the Queen. When she allowed him entry, he was moved into place at the side of her bed.

“Lord Stark, how may I help you?” she asked politely. 

“It is you whom I wish to help. I ask you to join me in the godswoods. There is much we need to discuss,” he said in his typical flat tone.

“I...I have been feeling unwell. The maester suggested I remain abed for the day,” Daenerys argued lightly.

“Please, come to the godswoods. I know there are questions you have. I will answer them for you.” He did not wait for her reply, asking to be taken out right then and there. Once he was back in the hall, his next request was to be taken to his brother’s room. Ever the obliging servant, he was brought there promptly.

When he reached the threshold of Jon’s room, Bran saw that the door was ajar and Jon was sitting on his bed. As it had been for the last several days, the furs on top were strewn with the letters that have been discovered in the box Ned Stark had left in the crypt of Lady Lyanna. Jon’s back was to him, his head bowed as he read one of her missives. 

“Jon,” he called softly, gaining his brother’s attention.

Jon turned and managed a smile. “Bran, hello.” The younger man could tell that he was leery of him. It was not unexpected. Bran had been the one who upended his life, his beliefs in himself.

“Jon, I wish--” But he was interrupted from saying anything further by Maester Wolkan.

“My Lord, I have just come from Her Grace’s chambers,” the maester informed them. Then he noticed Bran but went on. “She has taken ill, your Grace.

“Taken ill?” Jon’s voice filled with worry.

“Yes, but I have reason to believe that it is nothing serious.” The man’s face took on a look of disapproval. Bran understood why that would be since he did not have all the facts.

“Jon, I must ask you to take me to the godswoods,” Bran said, trying to get his brother’s attention back. He threw a look back to Wolkan. “I shall be able to explain much we go there.”

“Now?” Jon asked dumbly.

He nodded. “Yes, things must be dealt with before there is no more time.” He saw alarm cross Jon’s face, his thoughts probably going to what lay to the North of them, making their slow progress to the land of the living.

Silently, Jon dismissed the maester and the two headed for the godswoods. Despite the concern Jon had just heard, Bran saw a tranquility settle over Jon when they set foot in the ancient place. But as they moved closer towards the Heart Tree, that began to slip away. Daenerys Targaryen was already there.

“Your Grace.” Bran acknowledged her as Jon pushed him under the weirwood.

“Lord Stark, why is it that you asked me here?” the young queen asked.

Bran looked at Daenerys, then Jon, then to the face carved into the Weirwood. With his eyes still on that face, he explained, “There may be a way for you to peer into your pasts. I have seen all the events that have brought us here. I know of the pain they caused. A brother, who would have been a good king, killed by his kinsman, because he loved a woman. A mother, taken too soon, leaving behind ghosts that have haunted all of Westeros since.” He turned back to the two. “Would you both like to see?”

“Is it even possible?” Jon’s face was so full of hope as he asked. There was but one image he would ever have of his mother, the one etched in stone in the Winterfell crypt.

“I have been allowed to see. There was a magic that existed in Qarth, a place called the House of the Undying,” she said. 

“You saw the Iron Throne, covered in snow, and your husband and son,” Bran told her. “I cannot promise it will work, but I will try.” He held his hands out to each of them. “Take my hand.” 

Daenerys did so, readily, but Jon was more hesitant. He knew his brother was much more leery of magic, after his resurrection by the Red Woman. But after taking a deep breath, he did the same.

With both of them on each side, Bran’s eyes turned white, and he flew away.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Wherever they were, it was summer. Bran was standing in glorious sunlight, feeling warmer than he ever had. He turned, looking for Daenerys and Jon. He found only the former.

She herself had her face tilted towards the sun, eyes closed as she was soaking in the warmth she had probably not felt since she sailed from the Bay of Dragons. Then her eyes opened and she smiled broadly at him. He could not help but return the smile.

“Where are we?” he asked. His surroundings were unfamiliar but it seemed she knew. 

“Though I have never been here, it is a place I know.” She twisted her body, as did he. They were standing at the mouth of a shallow harbor, seeing blue waters and cliffs securing the bay. Then she looked behind her. When Bran followed, he saw the castle high above.

“The Red Keep!” He was amazed to see it. It was not someplace he had viewed from the eyes of his ravens, but he would not it nonetheless. “I was to come here with my father and sisters. Before…” His voice trailed off.

She came to his side and placed her hand on his shoulder. It was a comfort to him, one he had not expected her to give. “Come. Let us see what you have brought us here to see.”

They followed a path up to the keep, and through the hallways. It seemed to be abandoned until voices drifted to them. They followed them and came upon the sight of a young man and a woman, not old, but worn-looking.

“I wish there was more that I could do,” the man said. “I wish there was a way we could be rid of him. The kingdom, our family, have all suffered too long at the hands of Aerys Targaryen.”

“My son,” the woman called him as she reached to caress his cheek, “to even think such a thing as I believe you to be, it is treason. You know the punishment for that, even for a Crown Prince. And the realm cannot lose you.”

Bran saw Daenerys’ eyes go wide. They had come upon a discussion between her mother and her brother. But he could not ask her anything about it, because he was as mesmerized as she.

“The future of the realm is assured, Mother,” Rhaegar said.

Queen Rhaella and Daenerys must have understood what he was implying but it was the queen who responded. “You are sure?”

The prince nodded gravely. “Before I left Dorne, she confirmed it.” He placed his hand on her stomach. “And it is my hope that you shall have a little girl, and Lyanna a boy. If that is what is to be, then the future of the Seven Kingdoms will be assured, no matter what happens.”

“Oh, my son,” she cried, circling her arms around him, embracing him as tears were shed. “I pray that the gods old and new keep you safe. Please, stay safe.”

The moment was interrupted by a guard entering behind Bran and Daenerys. “Your Grace, your husband wishes for your presence and the young prince’s in the throne room.”

Rhaegar was about to protest, but his mother silenced him. “Go, make your preparations. Ride north, as you were ordered. We must play this game a little longer. We must make sure the future is safe.” Then she followed the guard out of the room.

Rhaegar watched their retreating forms and his sister watched him. “He was planning to end Aerys’ reign,” she said.

“It was the purpose of Harrenhal. He gathered the lords to a council, but it was derailed when the kings arrived,” Bran said, reaching for the memory he had from that time. It was something he saw after the revelation of Samwell Tarly.

Now he could see how saddened she was. “Oh, brother. How I wish you had lived. Everything would have been so different,” she sighed as she reached for him. But he moved through her as if she were a ghost.

“You are not here,” Bran explained. When the queen looked back to him for further explanation, he obliged. “When I saw my father at the Tower of Joy after he had defeated the Sword of the Morning, I called to him, just as you did. He turned as if he heard me. He may have, or I may have been the wind blowing through the valley. But whatever the case, I was not there.”

Now she turned back to Rhaegar. He was sitting on a couch. A glass of wine in his hand, looking as melancholy as he had always been described. “He wished for us, for Jon and I.”

“It was his hope. He was driven by the prophecies he had read. Somewhere along the way, he may have read something that made him think his son and his sister were to be, were to lead together in the future,” Bran replied.

“Or it could have merely been my family’s habit of marrying within our bloodline,” she said with a sarcastic edge.

“Perhaps,” he allowed. “But whatever his belief, it has come true. You and Jon have come together, are leading the fight together. And you have ensured the future of your house.” Now he was standing before Daenerys, his hand hovering over her stomach as Rhaegar had just done with their mother.

The young queen looked down at her flat stomach, shaking her head. “No. I shall never bear a child. That is what I was told by the witch who cursed me.”

“Has it occurred to you she may not be a reliable source of information?” Daenerys turned to him sharply as he repeated the word Jon had said to her in the Dragonpit. “Your son died as payment so that your husband would live. You have lost another son, Mother of Dragons.”

He could see her fighting to believe his words. “All great things come at a terrible expense. Only death can pay for life.” Then he held out his hand. She looked at it, then into his eyes as she reached for him. With one hand on her stomach, the other held his and together, they flew again.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
When he found himself next to Jon, Bran could tell they were not in King’s Landing. However, it was still obviously summer, by the look of the greenery around them. It took Bran a minute, but then he realized he recognized this place. He had seen it before, seen it when Sam told him about the High Septon.

They were on the Isle of Faces, on the day Lyanna Stark would wed Rhaegar Targaryen.

Bran was excited for his brother. This was not a moment children generally saw. But it must be important enough that Bran was allowed to bring their son to this time and place.

“Where are we?” Jon asked, a tremor of fear evident in his tone.

Before Bran could answer, he saw a figure walking through the brush. “Come, and you will learn,” he replied.

As the figure arrived at a tent, the two of them finally recognized him. He carried a greatsword at his back, milk white, pale as moonlight. “Is that…?” Jon asked in awe.

“Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He was the best of friends to the Crown Prince. I would think he knew of all that had happened and was with them from Harrenhal to the end,” Bran supposed out loud.

“Until he was killed by Ned Stark,” Jon concluded harsher than Bran had expected.

“He was sworn the to protect the king,” Bran repeated Gendry’s words from the day the truth was learned. “And the rightful King of the Realm was born that day.” But his words did little to assuage Jon’s mood.

“My Lady?” Ser Arthur called into the tent. A feminine voice could be heard, granting him entry. That allowed Jon and Bran to move closer and overhear what was being said.

“I know there is a weight of sadness on you, my lady,” Dayne tried to console Lyanna.

“I just cannot believe that Father or Brandon would just ignore my message. I know they will not be pleased with what is to happen, but still…” Lyanna sighed. “At least I will be able to marry before a proper Heart Tree. There are so few left south of the Neck.”

“And thank the gods the High Septon was allowed on this sacred island. He is indeed a truly wise man to appreciate and respect the other faiths in Westeros.” He moved a step closer. “Are you ready?”

Lyanna was looking down at her lap, Bran could make out. And indeed, she did look terribly sad for a bride. “Just allow me a few more minutes of peace. Tell Rhaegar I shall be there shortly.” With that, the knight nodded and stepped back out. But then, he stopped and looked in the direction of where Jon and Bran were. His face told them that his guard was up, though he made no other actions in that regard. Bran was ready with something to say if they had indeed been noticed, but nothing happened and Dayne left to inform Prince Rhaegar Lyanna would join him soon.

Once she was alone, Jon himself entered the tent. Bran didn’t think anything of it. He had not been able to interact with the visions, nor had Daenerys. But the moment he stepped inside, Bran saw Lyanna’s head rise as if she caught sight of something in the looking glass. She stood up, demanding, “Who are you?”

Jon looked befuddled. “You can see me? I didn’t think…” He looked back as Bran moved to the entrance.

“You’re from the North,” Lyanna said breathlessly. She closed the distance between them, scrutinizing Jon’s face. “You’re a Stark!”

There was something of an irony that Jon’s mother was calling him something he had always denied himself. And, as expected, Jon replied, “No...I mean, not really.”

Lyanna then noticed Bran. “You resemble she who is to be my good sister,” she told her nephew.

“You can see me too!” This was even more shocking to Bran. He remembered with pain calling out to his father in Dorne, of Ned turning around at the sound, but not seeing him. 

“As clear as I see myself in the mirror,” she replied with a light laugh. Then she looked to be understanding what was happening. “You have been sent by the gods. A blessing on my marriage?”

“Yes, I think so,” Bran answered as Jon stood there dumbly. “I am the Three-eyed Raven, but before that, I was Bran Stark of Winterfell.”

“You have the greensight.”

Bran nodded to her. “And other magics, it seems.” Then he held his hand in Jon’s direction. “And this…”

But his aunt understood everything now. She took two steps closer to Jon and ran her fingers along his cheek. Jon closed his eyes, almost melting into his mother’s touch. “My son,” she realized. “The Prince that was Promised.”

Now, his brother reached up and ran his hand down her arm, feeling that she was solid to his touch. In an instant, he wrapped his arms around her and they embrace.

It was as if Lyanna knew. “It is all right, sweetling. Sometimes, the greatest gifts come at the most terrible of prices.”

“I will only be able to see you in stone,” he said through his tears. “And I didn’t even have that for most of my life.”

“That is why we were granted this moment then. If we are to be robbed of all others, then we shall live in this one to the fullest,” Lyanna cried softly into Jon’s neck. “And when the day comes that I give birth to you, know that I will think of this to my last breath.” Now she pulled away, taking his face in both her hands. “But promise me something?”

“Anything, mother.” It was said so quietly, Bran almost didn’t hear it.

“Always carry goodness in your heart. No matter what cruelty is thrown to you, no matter the challenges your life will lead, no matter the evils that will be visited upon you, do not succumb to them. Wear them all like armor and they will never hurt you,” she made him promise.

It was as if the future was predicted in her words. Even down to the advice of a lord, many years from now in a courtyard at Winterfell. Seeing it all brought Bran Stark to tears.

“Now, I suspect our time together grows short. But, would you grant your mother one last request?” the bride asked. Jon could only nod, so overcome, was he. “Walk me as far as the clearing leading to the shore. If I cannot have my father or brothers here to witness my marriage, I think the gods would allow my son to watch.”

Jon stood upright, wiping his tears away with the palm of his hand. Then, nestling her arm in his, he led her to where Ser Arthur stood. Upon seeing her, the Sword of the Morning nodded and signaled further down the way.

Before she left Jon’s side, she pointed to the spot Bran had stood when he first found this moment. “Would you like to bear witness to our vows?”

“Almost as much as I’ve ever wanted,” Jon said. He brought her hand to his lips, gently kissing it as a tear ran down his cheek. 

“No tears, sweetling. Just happy memories. Ones you can share with your wife and children.” Lyanna took a few steps back then and walked over to where her bridegroom stood with a man in religious robes.

Bran and Jon stood back and watched as, at first, Rhaegar and Lyanna exchanged a modified version of the vows for a Northern wedding. “I, Lyanna of House Stark, come before the Gods this day, to beg their blessings.”

“And I, Rhaegar of House Targaryen, come to claim her,” Jon’s father said, his eyes never leaving her.

“I take you,” Lyanna said, to which Rhaegar echoed, “And I take you.”

Then the High Septon led them in the vows of the Faith. After they kissed, Lyanna turned one last time in the direction of where Jon and Bran stood. She whispered something in her new husband’s ear and he looked over, his eyes going wide with recognition. He nodded his head slightly in their direction.

Jon was without words as he played the events over in his head. Something about what his mother said to him combined with Maester Wolkan’s words from earlier.

Something clicked. He turned to Bran, hoped to get some hint that he was right in the way he was thinking. But, with great reluctance, Bran put his hand on Jon’s arm. “It is time.”

Still watching his parents together, Jon only held his tongue and nodded. Then they departed in a flash of light.


	17. Jon III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has a lot to deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello once more! Sorry for the delay again. I'm getting some footing back in this story and hope you enjoy the next chapter.

“Jon--” two voiced called his name when he returned to the godswood. One was the melodic voice of Daenerys Targaryen. The other was the high pitched tone of Samwell Tarly. He knew he needed to have a talk with Dany, particularly about something his mother had said, but, again, he needed time to cope with what he had just experienced.

“Sam?” he asked, drawing his friend’s attention.

“Sor-sorry to interrupt...whatever it was you were all doing,” the burly lord stuttered. “I was just, well, wondering if I could have a short talk with you.” Then he blushed and waved Jon off. “You know what, it’s not important. It looks like you have other things to deal with.”

Jon looked down at the ground. The truth of it was, he hadn’t spent all that much time with Sam since returning to Winterfell. It had only been just after they had arrived, when Bran had brought the truth of Jon’s parentage to light, and then at a feast the previous evening when Daenerys had released him from his Night’s Watch vows and named him Lord of Horn Hill. “Actually, this can wait,” Jon replied while ignoring the looks he was getting from both the Dragon Queen and his brother Bran.

“Jon.” 

He turned to Daenerys. “I know we have much to talk about. I promise we will. It’s just…”

She nodded. “I will come to find you.” But she did not ask where he would be. He supposed Bran would tell her about his vision and she would get her answer that way.

Jon and Sam wandered off together back to the keep. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Sam began. “What was happening there? When I found the three of you, your eyes were all white. I mean, I can assume Bran had one of his vision.”

Jon looked at him, then wheeled in the direction of the kitchens. “We haven’t had a drink in a while.”

“Ah,” Sam realized. “It’s one of those talks.”

Jon didn’t say another word until they were seated in the Great Hall, mostly devoid of people save for a servant here or there. After taking a few healthy chugs from his tankard, he finally asks his friend, “Why were you looking for me, and how did you know to go to the godswoods?”

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “I asked someone if they’d seen you, and they point me in that direction. And then I saw you with your brother and the Queen and your eyes…” His voice faded away as he wiggled his finger in front of his own eyes. “As to the why, well, I had a question I wanted to ask you. Well, me and Gilly.”

Sam’s face had gone red, reminding him of the time when Jon had returned to Castle Black with the Free Folk and Sam had told him he and the wildling girl had consummated their relationship. A broad smile spread over his face. “Sam?”

“Ah, see, the night of the feast, after Gilly and I were getting ready for bed, she, ah, told me...it’s rather funny that the Queen talked of inheritance and children just a few hours before.” Sam actually laughed gleefully as he didn’t quite reveal all.

A flash of his mother’s words echoed in Jon’s mind when he reached to embrace his best friend. “That’s great! Congratulations!” No one deserved happiness more than Sam Tarly. From an heir banished from his home to a frightened recruit to a would-be maester, and now he was the lord of his ancestral home and a father-to-be. The lad had come a long way.

“And, well, we were wondering...I remember what your feeling was about...and while I think attitudes may slowly change and well, I took my vows to the Watch in the eyes of the Old Gods and with Gilly being a Northerner, we were wondering…”

Jon didn’t let him complete his sentence. “Of course!” With the darkness at their very door, Winterfell could use a little bit of happiness and a wedding was the perfect occasion. “Speaking as...speaking for my family, we would be honored.”

Now Sam beamed back at him. “That’s great! Thank you, my friend.” After more backslapping, they settled down again and Sam grew serious. “Now, you seem to be burdened. What...what happened back there in the godswood?”

Jon thought long and hard. He still wasn’t sure himself what he had seen. Was it a true replaying of history? Or just the wishful dream of the boy he was. “I think...I saw my mother.”

Sam knew all too well how much the question of his mother had affected him all his life. It was one of the things Jon had confided in him about back at Castle Black when they were just recruits. “Your mother, Lyanna Stark?”

Jon nodded silently. “We talked. She seemed to think us...interacting was a blessing of the gods.”

“I’d say,” Sam commented. “Not often you get to talk to the dead.” He took another sip of his ale. “What was she like, what did she say, exactly?”

Jon was having a hard time remembering, even though it hadn’t been that long since he saw her. “She was very beautiful,” he recalled. “It was often said how much I resembled my...uncle.” He halted, catching his breath. “But I clearly take after her.” He closed his eyes, picturing her face once more. The brown hair and grey eyes, so Stark. It was a wonder now how no one ever said he looked like her. “I heard her sorrow at how none of her family had responded to the news of her and Rhae--my father. But she knew me, knew I was a Stark from the first.”

Sam didn’t speak, allowing him to work through his memories. That was Sam, letting you deal with what life threw at you until asked for his comments.

“It was their wedding day,” Jon continued. “And when she realized exactly who I was, she asked me to step in for her father, at least part of the way. She told me to always keep goodness in my heart and that she would remember this moment for as long as she lived.”

“In the end, I was able to stay, watch them exchange their vows. My...father even caught a glimpse of me.”

Sam wore the kindest smile Jon had ever seen now. “It must be nice, being loved by your parents, even after death.”

Jon grimaced when his friend said that. There was still a boiling anger he felt whenever he thought of Sam’s own father, Randyll Tarly. But he shook the thought out of his mind and moved onto more pleasant discussions. “Have you and Gilly talked about when you’d like to marry?” Jon asked.

“Um, well, actually, ah, sooner would be better than later, if you...get my drift,” Lord Tarly admitted.

Jon could help but smile. “Then let’s go find Sansa. She’s the best to discuss this with,” he said as he rose from his seat.

As it happened, Sansa found them before they found her. “Jon!” she yelled after him in the courtyard. His sister ran the short distance to them, her red hair loping back and forth. When she finally met up with them, she nodded in acknowledgment of Sam. “Lord Tarly.” Then she turned her attention back to Jon. “Have you seen Her Grace? She took ill this morning but didn’t let Maester Wolkan do an examination of her. And I just went back to her rooms but she wasn’t there.” There was a mild panic in her voice.

Jon took a breath. “Rest easy, sister. She was with Bran and I in the godswoods,” he informed her.

“The godswoods?” Now she sounded curious.

He didn’t want to talk about it with her. “It wasn’t anything important. But I am glad you found us.” He gave Sam’s shoulder a hard pat. “Lord Tarly and his Lady have decided that it was the right time to wed. I thought he should discuss such plans with you.” Then he turned to Sam. “You’re in good hands now,” before leaving the two.

“But--but--but Jon, didn’t you want to be a part of the discussion?” Sam shouted at him.

“You let me know when you’ve laid the plans out,” he answered without looking back.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
He was staring at her face when he heard the footsteps in the crypt. At his side, Ghost whimpered but did not move, meaning he recognized Jon’s visitor as well. Jon smiled. He knew she would figure out where he would be.

“I can only assume Bran showed you your mother,” Daenerys said as she joined his side.

“Aye,” he replied, “I was gifted with viewing their wedding.”

“I saw my mother and brother. I believe it was before he left for the Trident because her stomach was swollen,” Dany told him. “They spoke of the idea of you and I ensuring the future for the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Lyanna told me to tell my wife and children about the day.” His voice was full of emotion as he recalled it.

“You spoke to her?” Daenerys seemed surprised.

Now Jon looked at the Dragon Queen. “Aye, she saw both Bran and me. She recognized who, well, my family was at first. I told her I wasn’t a Stark. That seemed to tip her off because then she knew who I was.”

“I find I envy you,” she said. “The last time I had a vision, I was with my husband and baby son for but a moment. I almost wanted to stay.”

“When was that?”

“In Qarth, in a place called the House of the Undying.”

“But here--?” Jon began.

“Remember, I am the blood of Old Valyria. It was Essosi magic that enabled me to see that vision. But you, Jon Snow, are of the First Man and Old Valyria. Bran’s abilities are from the former. Perhaps, it was the combination of both that gave you your interactions, but not mine,” she reasoned. 

Jon let out a chuckle. “Never would I have thought I would be discussing magic, with anyone.” How strange life had turned for so many of them. 

There was silence again between them, but it was broken when Daenerys began looking around the room. “Why is she the only woman with a statue? I would have thought the ladies of these lords would be remembered the same way.”

It was then that Jon knew that answer. He had always wondered the same until his father explained it to him. “These men were either Lord of Winterfell or, even further back, Kings of Winter. The tradition said that they were the only ones accorded the honor.” 

A rude sound came from the Dragon Queen. Jon chuckled. “I thought that would be your feeling on the idea. Anyway, I had always wondered the same. That was how my...uncle told me it was. But now, I recognize the reason why my mother was accorded the honor.”

Daenerys understood. “She was a queen.” Now her eyes drifted to the face of her good sister. “For a brief time, after my father’s death, even though Rhaegar had passed, she could be viewed as being the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed in the barest murmur.

Something about that reminded Jon of a conversation he had just had. “Sam and Gilly will be marrying soon. Part of that is thanks to you.”

“I was merely righting a wrong,” was all she commented, as her attention was almost totally on Lyanna Stark as she turned the conversation back to where it had been originally. “You saw their wedding?”

“She asked me...to lead her part of the way to her groom. After they said their vows though, she pointed to where I was and Rhaegar must have seen me as well.” Then he let out a breath he had been holding. “She also told me to remember that day and share it with my wife and children.” Now he looked to her.

Dany bent her neck, looking to the ground. “When Bran was with me, in my vision, he quoted back to me something you said in the Dragonpit.”

Jon knew what she was talking about. “The witch’s words.”

“And now unreliable they should be seen as.” Now, she lifted her eyes to meet his. “Bran also told me that life can pay for death.” Slowly, she reached for Jon’s wrist and he allowed her to grasp it. When it came into contact with her stomach, he couldn’t help but smile. “Viserion’s death...it must have allowed me this blessing.”

“Allowed us this blessing,” Jon said. He placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “I never thought I would father children. It was something I accepted when I swore my vows to the Night’s Watch. And, even before that, I did not lay with a woman, for fear fathering a bastard, like I believed of myself. Perhaps we should be thinking on the same matters, my love.”

She offered him a small smile. “Know that I do love you. But there is still a part of me that does not believe this. Even if the maester were to confirm it, I still…”

He understood the power of belief. Its pull could be so strong that to allow yourself otherwise would be to court heartbreak if it were not come to pass. “Until then, I will ensure that Bran is the only other person who knows the truth.” Then he stepped back smiling at her. “But please, see yourself to the maester and find if it is true.”

“I shall,” she assured him. Then Dany stretched up and kissed Jon before departing, leaving him by himself once more.

It was a while later that he finally emerged from the crypts. He was unsurprised to see Sansa waiting for him there. “Have you spoken about the arrangements with Sam?” he asked nonchalantly.

She merely narrowed her eyes at him. “Why was the queen in the crypts?” Her question surprised him.

“She has been wanting to talk to me about...my mother,” he answered. It wasn’t completely a lie. “Lyanna was also her good sister, remember? She’s read letters her brother wrote and asked me about the ones from Lyanna.” That said, he wanted to get off the topic. “Have you seen Bran?”

“As usual, at the Heart Tree,” he was informed. They fell into step together as she continued. “What happened this morning? The Queen took ill but refused the maester’s consultation, and then she is seen walking out of the crypts shortly before you yourself emerge.” 

Her tone reminded him of her mother. Lady Catelyn rarely spoke to him, but when she did, it was to reprimand him for something she thought he had done to one of her children. Usually, Robb or Arya, since they were to two who acknowledged him, loved him the most. 

Jon sighed, not wanting to deal with this now. It wasn’t frankly any of her business, even if they had chosen to keep any developments to themselves. “It’s nothing for you to worry about,” he told her, hoping to get her off the line of questioning. “I was just down there...Bran was telling me more of what he’d seen of Lyanna and Rhaegar, is all. And when the Queen sought me out, that was where she found me.”

“I don’t...I mean no disrespect, but I don’t like the thought of those who are not family or not welcomed with us, in there. Not since Robert Baratheon came, at least,” she huffed out.

“Yes, I know what you mean. I did not appreciate seeing Littlefinger in there before I left for the South,” he replied, an edge to his voice.

“Just know, I advised him not to follow you down there, but he felt he needed to speak to you before you left,” Sansa said. “I think he may have regretted it when he came back up. Even made a comment to Lord Royce how you were very much your father’s son.” She sighed again. “You were asking about Lord Tarly. It cannot be a grand feast, but I shall try to pull together something nice. He is your friend, after all.”

“Thank you, Sansa.” The words were heartfelt. He knew these were tough times, but everyone deserved a little pomp, especially for their wedding. And especially Sam and Gilly.

Jon and Sansa continued walking along though he was listless. Part of him wanted to find Daenerys and find out if what they believed was true. But since seeing what he had been shown by Bran, for once, he had questions he wanted answers to and knew someone who may be able to help. “Have you seen Ser Jaime Lannister?” 

“Probably sparring in the yard,” his sister said.

Jon nodded once more and set off in that direction. As Ser Jaime was the most experienced commander they had, it behooved Jon to consult with the man. And he did find him there, sparring with the sellsword knight he’d brought to Winterfell with him.

“Ser Jaime,” he called out as he approached. The former Kingsguard stopped what he was doing, staring at Jon with wide, emerald eyes. For a moment, Jon didn’t know why he had garnered this reaction, then remembered the incident earlier when Lannister mentioned his father.

“Your Grace,” he returned as he recovered himself. “Can I be of service?”

“Walk with me,” It wasn’t intended to be an order, but it had come out as such. Jon eventually led him to the godswoods, with the hope that Bran would still be there. But he found himself alone with the Kingslayer.

“I want to apologize for my...reaction to your comment. I'm still not used to the idea of--”

“Ned Stark not being your father?” he finished, a smirk on his lips. It seemed like there was more he wanted to say, but thought better of it.

“You knew him, you knew Rhaegar?” Jon’s voice sounded small, even to his ears. He wasn’t even sure why he wanted to know. There was a war within him, clinging to Ned Stark’s ghost, yet yearning to learn about Rhaegar Targaryen.

“Not well, I was too young to be very close to him,” the man admitted. “And I wasn’t usually protecting him anyway. Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Oswell Whent were more likely at his side than I. Probably intentionally that way.”

“Why?”

Jaime launched into a story about Harrenhal, and why it was he was named to the Kingsguard. How Rhaegar inspired loyalty from a good portion of the court, and those devoted to him, in turn, gave up their lives for him, his wife and unborn babe, while others probably escaped to the East to avoid Aerys’ flames.

When the tale was finished, it was Jaime who questioned him. “If I may, you have been on edge since your cousin made his announcement. Even up until this morning, it has been left unspoken. Why did you want to know now?”

Jon turned back to the Heart Tree. “This morning, my brother offered me a way to see into the past as he does. There, for some reason, I was able to...talk to my mother. And I saw my father, from a distance, but I saw him. It was but a minute we beheld each other, but he knew who I was. I realized then I did not know who he was.” Of course, there was another reason Jom had, but it was left unsaid for the time being.

Jaime seemed to understand. “There are so few of us left who remember. Everyone who was close is dead, and those left alive, myself, the Spider, were held at arm’s length.” Now he looked at Jon. “There is more if you wish it. Tales I was told by Tywin when he was Hand of the King.”

Jon wasn’t sure he wanted to hear those. Both men knew Tywin was an unreliable source, even second hand through his son. But he needed time to absorb what he had already been told. “Not now, Ser Jaime. A time will come, but today is not the day.”

Jaime cocked his head to Jon in deference and was about to leave. He was stopped when Jon spoke up once more. “I thank you for telling me about him.” He ended it with a smile.

The knight returned the gesture, leaving a man alone with spirits of the dead, spirits that still lurked in peoples’ hearts.


	18. Daenerys III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and Missandei get a tour of Winterfell and history and then Jon pours his heart out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry for such a long wait. But even I am getting eager to put some of my chapters into these spaces. I'd like to extend a big THANKS! to Greed of Rage for perusing this chapter for me. I hope you enjoy.

Daenerys Targaryen remembered the last time it was that she realized she was with child. There was joy for her and it deepened her feelings for Drogo. The Stallion that would Mount the World, her son would be. There was nothing that would harm the babe. Even her brother’s threat to cut the child out of her struck no fear in her. 

Then there was her husband’s mortal injury and her pleading with Mirri Maz Duur. In the end, she saved her husband’s life, even if it was not the ability to live. She had bought a few extra days with Drogo, and the price had been her son. The loss of her husband and son were only made worse by the curse the sorceress had placed on her. No child would ever come from her womb, she was told. Daenerys’ only children would be the three dragons that had emerged from the Great Khal’s funeral pyre.

Perhaps the witch played on her childish fears, in the end. It was a long time until she lay with a man and when nothing came forth, it confirmed her belief in the curse. Even when Jon had cautioned her about what had been told to her long ago, she still clung to them. It was better than having hope and then that hope being dashed.

Only death could pay for life, Duur had told her. Rhaego for Drogo. The witch for her dragons. Viserion for this new babe, it now seemed. A part of her still did not want to believe. The hope that had been planted in her by Bran Stark’s words, the confirmation she had just received from the maester, it was all too much. To say nothing of her own family history. Viserys had always blamed Dany for their mother’s death. Not as harshly as Cersei Lannister did with Tyrion, but she knew she had caused her mother’s death. Jon as well. It was another curse, she feared. Another death paying for life.

She didn’t want to think that. And she didn’t want to think of the war to come, quite frankly. Not today. 

She walked through the courtyard, watching over her people. Not just the Dothraki and Unsullied, but also the people of the North. No, she was not their queen yet, but she hoped to be winning them over.

She watched Grey Worm sparring with Northern knights, and Missandei watching him. “He is holding his own against the Westerosi?” she asked her friend.

A chill shook the dark-skinned woman’s body. “Yes,” Missandei answered proudly.

Daenerys smirked. “You are not adapting well to the climate, are you, my friend?”

Missandei shook her head. “No. Dragonstone was comfortable, but nothing in my imagination would prepare me for such temperatures.”

Taking her friend’s arm, Dany said, “Come. Jon told me much about Winterfell on the journey here. There are warmer places within the keep. Perhaps they can bring you some comfort.”

“And you, Your Grace? The cold is not affecting you?”

“My words are Fire and Blood for a reason,” she remarks wryly as they head to the glass garden. Inside, Missandei let out a breath, her ease already evident. “From what I have been told, this is where they grow much of their fruits, vegetables and flowers.”

“How does it stay so warm?” the scribe asked.

“It’s the hot springs under Winterfell,” Arya Stark’s voice responded. “They heat the keeps.”

“But how is it that the water flows throughout?” Always curious, Missandei asks more questions. “I’ve never heard of such a mechanism.”

Arya looked to be recalling the answer, but after a moment, none was forthcoming. “I know at some point, Maester Luwin told us, but I was most likely not paying attention,” she replied honestly with a shrug of her shoulders. “It has always been that way, from when Bran the Builder raised the castle after the Long Night.” Now her eyes fall on Daenerys, “Do you want to see something? I think you may enjoy it. It is something...exotic. Native almost exclusively to the North.”

Missandei’s curiosity is peaked again. “Exotic, you say?” Dany and she set off in the direction Arya is headed.

Arya leads them to a number of rose bushes. There are but a few blossoms, but the ones she sees have blue petals. “I have never seen a flower of such color. It’s extraordinary!” her friend gasps. She sniffs in the scent, as Daenerys sees the girl’s smile grow. 

“There is a story that goes with this flower. Do you want to hear it?” Arya asks. “It’s about the Tourney at Harrenhal. I’m not sure how much you know about your brother, Prince Rhaegar. It’s not something fondly remembered, but knowing what we know, I think everyone got it wrong. They say it was the day the smiles died when he bestowed on her a wreath of winter roses”

Any story Queen Daenerys heard of Rhaegar had come from her Viserys’ lips and those were generally curses against their eldest brother. Then she took another look at the flower, recognizing something. She had seen it once before, telling Arya as much. “The crown of roses,” she whispered. Then, louder, she explained, “In a vision I had back in Essos I saw this flower. It was in a wall of ice, peeking out from it.” Turning back to the young woman she made a request. “Tell me about Harrenhal.”

Arya obliged, leaving the two friends spellbound for a time. “I was never told this directly, but I heard the servants talk about it when I was growing up, especially Old Nan, From what I overheard, it was the last day of the tourney. Your brother won the last tilt against Ser Barristan the Bold.” That name brought a smile to Daenerys’ face, even as she knew she would miss the old man again, one of the last links to her family she had. “Afterwards, in front of everyone, his father, his wife, the small councilors present, he crowned my aunt the Queen of Love and Beauty, gave her a crown of winter roses.”

“The symbol of their love,” Dany guessed. She took in their scent once more, trying to imagine the scene she had just been described. 

“What was it you were told about Harrenhal, your Grace?” Arya asked.

“Dany, Lady Arya. Please, call me Dany. We share kin, after all.” 

A grimace flashed across her face. “Then if we are being informal, I’m no lady. Simply Arya.”

Dany gave a small nod before answering. “Please remember that I had no family save for my brother Viserys. He was the furthest thing from Jon one could be. By his end, I bore no love for him.” She took a breath. “His memory of that fateful meeting focused more on the ‘Northern whore’ who seduced Rhaegar and ultimately led to his death, and the death of our father.” Arya’s face now seemed set in stone, a reaction, no doubt, to how her aunt had been described. “He believed that there was a conspiracy against our father and that Lyanna Stark was the bait by which Rhaegar was trapped with.”

 

“And of course they say Lyanna was the helpless maiden taken against her will,” Arya reminded her, as she explained further to the scribe, “My aunt was to marry another man, one she loathed, but before she could, she and Prince Rhaegar fell in love. We in the North were led to believe that she was kidnapped and raped. Robert Baratheon swore to kill every Targaryen because of that.”

“The man who was the Usurper to the Iron Throne?” she asked.

Dany nodded. “If it was what he truly believed or what he told himself, we will never know. But it was Ser Jaime who said of Lyanna, ‘No one could make Lyanna Stark do anything she didn’t want to do’.” Daenerys paraphrased, looking back at the rose bush. Absent-mindedly, her hand rested gently on her stomach. She did not even see Arya or Missandei take notice.

Not for the first time since Daenerys had learned the truth did she want to have actually met Lyanna. When she had called on Jon Snow to come to Dragonstone and bend the knee, she gathered Tyrion and Varys with her to talk about the North and the Starks. Nothing they had said was untrue, she was to learn. They were a stubborn lot, blunt and fierce. But they were also smart in their dealings. “Remember, your Grace, they knew better than to challenge your ancestor and his three dragons,” Varys said to her. “It was not out of fear, but it was the right thing to do. The Starks are like that. They do what is right, even if it turns on them.”

That was when she was given the tale of Ned Stark and his tenure as Hand to the Usurper. “He had pieced together the truth that Cersei’s three children were not the blood of the Stag. Honorable to the last, he told the Queen that he knew. That was when he signed his own death warrant.”

“If you wish to go back further, his ancestor, Cregan Stark served as Hand for but a day,” Tyrion continued. “He could have held power for many years to a boy king. Yet, he left for the North after bringing the King’s Justice to those who were on the losing side.”

When she had met Jon, though she did not give it away, Daenerys very clearly saw how on target her advisors had been. He had not called her queen, not bent the knee, and called her a child, stubbornly arguing why they needed to be allies. She knew he was aware he could have died almost immediately, but still, he pushed his argument. There was something to be admired about that, she knew. However, she would not admit it then.

“Was Jon always so stubborn?” Dany asked Arya as the girl observed her silently. She realized that there was so little about him that she knew, and she wanted that knowledge, hold it to her heart, have their child hear of it as she did.

A smile broke across her face. “No, not really, if I remember it correctly. He was more likely to caution me than be called on it himself.” Then she shifted her body as she struggled with something internally. “He was quiet, kept to himself. He didn’t want to do anything bad, lest he attracted my mother’s attention.”

The name brought up more questions for her. Jon had talked about his family, his father, brothers and sisters. But the name of Lady Catelyn came up once, and briefly. “She did not approve of him. That was what it sounded like when Jon mentioned her in passing.”

Now Arya looked mad. “She hated him because she was told he was a bastard. She thought he would turn on us and kill us so he could rule Winterfell,” Arya spat out. “When he even thought he did something bad, something she would use against him with Father, Jon would hide somewhere. Usually, I could find him in the crypts.”

Daenerys knew her own family’s history. The Blackfyres were from a line of bastards who wanted the Iron Throne for themselves. The wars against them led up to the reign of her great-grandfather, Aegon V. But in remembering the stories she had heard of them, she could not picture Jon traveling down such a road. He had told her that any title he received, be it Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch or King in the North were reluctantly worn. 

“And yet, he was not one,” Missandei reasoned. “I spoke to him about what a bastard was. He was...reluctant to go into great detail. He still felt the shame.”

Arya nodded, cooling off. “I loved my mother, but that was the one thing I hated about her. Now, it makes me sad. If the truth was known by my mother--” Arya said. 

“Jon would not have lived, I fear. Word would have reached Lord Varys, who would have whispered it into the Usurper's ear,” Dany said. Through all the hardships Jon faced growing up, he has not let them make him bitter.”

“I loved him, and so did Robb and Bran and Rickon. Mother would get mad at us for that,” Arya replied. 

Daenerys smiled. “And for that, I thank you. You all kept him safe, something I cannot thank you enough for.” She surprised Arya when she wrapped her arms around the younger woman. It was an unusual gesture, she admitted to herself, but it was the only way she felt she could express herself. After a moment, she stepped back. “I thank you, Arya, for these stories you have told me.”

That led the girl to grin mischievously. “Jon wasn’t perfect, you know? I do have some stories of him being naughty,” she tempted Dany with.

A laugh burst out of the queen. “Another time, perhaps. But I fear I must get on with the business of the day. Again, my thanks.” With one last tip of the head, she and her companion left the glass garden.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Still feeling ill at the sight of food, Dany begged off dinner in the Great Hall later that night. They had all gathered in the council chambers, so most of their friends, family and advisors were present. She hoped that none of them, save for Bran, were picking up anything unusual, but if they were, she chose to ignore it. When Missandei was about to question her further, Jon gallantly stepped in. “In truth, to the both of us, it has been a tiring day. I’m quite tired myself. We’ll adjourn for now and look at it with fresh eyes in the morn.” Without saying anything else, Jon held his arm out to her, and she linked her to him.

They said gracious goodnights to each other, but she was certain he would return to her at some point later on in the night. The handmaiden Sansa had given her had come and left, and she was sitting on a couch in the room, staring at the fire. So entranced by it she was that a knock at the door was almost missed.

Getting up, she was not surprised to see Jon but was taken aback at seeing his direwolf accompany him. The creature went on ahead into the room, leaving his master shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but I could not get him to stay behind. Not even the rabbits the cook gave him would make him stay put.”

She couldn’t help the smile come to her face. “It is quite alright. I am one who knows the loyalty of beasts.”

Jon frowned, closing the door behind him. His eyes fell on Ghost, who by now had sat by the fire. “When I called your sons beast, you scolded me on it. Now, it is you who is using the term.” His tone may have been serious, but his expression wasn’t holding.

Dany inclined her head towards him. “My apologies if I have insulted your wolf.” Then she looked to Ghost. “I am sorry if I have hurt your feelings.” The only reaction was his tongue lolling out.

“I get a sense that he’s missed me so much that he won’t let me out of his sight,” Jon said. “It’s not been long periods we’ve been apart.”

Dany moved to the wolf’s side, petting him gently. “I know this may sound silly, but I cannot imagine something of such size.” Before another scratch, she asked, “How did he come to be yours?”

“I’ve not told you?” They had talked about much on their journey here, but she could not recall him telling her about his furry friend. “Shortly before Robert Baratheon came to Winterfell, my...Lord Stark was called about to serve the King’s Justice to a deserter of the Night’s Watch. On our return, we came upon a stag dead on a bridge. Looking around, a mother wolf lay not far away, her litter trying to nurse from her. She had a broken antler in her side.” His frown deepened as if feeling anew the sting of being motherless. “Theon Greyjoy wanted to kill the pups, a mercy, but after Bran pleaded, I pointed out that there were three males and two females.”

She understood. “Like your siblings.”

He nodded. “After reminding my father,” he took a deep breath as he said that, “that they were the sigil of his house, he told us we could keep them, but they were our sole responsibility. After we collected them, Bran noticed there was none for me, but I reminded him I was not a Stark.” He shrugged his shoulders as if still thinking of himself that way. “But before we left, I noticed this ball of fur shunted to the side. He was the runt, and Theon mocked him, saying he was perfect for me.”

“Some runt,” Daenerys commented tartly.

“Aye. He’s the one who’s survived the longest with us. Nymeria, Arya’s pup, she’s still here, but I have a feeling it’s taken a lot to domesticate her. She attacked Joffrey as the royal party made its way back to King’s Landing. Arya had to shoo her away to save her.”

“And the others? Ghost and Nymeria’s brothers and sister?”

“Grey Wind, he was Robb’s, died the same night at him, from what Arya has said. Lady was put down by Father in place of Nymeria. Shaggydog, Rickon’s was killed and presented as proof of who my brother was to Ramsey. Summer, Bran’s, I can only guess was lost when he was North of the Wall.”

As the story finished, Ghost rose from his position and nuzzled at Dany’s lap. She was a little overwhelmed by his size, but still, her hand ran over his head and down his back. “Is there a particular reason you’ve become so affectionate with me?” she asked.

For a reply, he rested his head on her knees.

“I have a feeling, my king, that our secret is not so secret to at least one in the keep,” Dany told him. 

“If you would like, we could tell a few,” he suggested.

She thought about it for a moment. Daenerys wanted to wait a little while longer. “I am still...I still have trouble believing it. And if something were to happen…” A tear rolled down her cheek. Jon’s finger caught it as she turned to face him fully. “It’s not just the idea of losing the babe. Neither of our mothers’ lived past our births and our fathers,” she paused focusing more on Jon’s than her own, “they both died months before we were even born. And that was in the middle of a war as well.”

But Winterfell only seemed to have kept one secret. “We should tell them, and your lords as well. They do not know the truth about you, and I am certain your honor demands you come forward with the truth, about your parents and us.”

He gathered her in his arms, drawing her close to him. No words were said back to her, as he too was probably struggling with the truth in their histories. At last, he pulled away. “I cannot say I have not thought the same things as you. I never thought I would even father children, for I feared the child be the bastard of a bastard and the scorn it would face. But we must not think in those terms now. We must think of the future and that is what this child represents, hope for the future.” They lips met in a kiss, gentle and slow. Then the need for it increased but before they gave in, Jon pulled away. “I want nothing more than you and our child, Daenerys Targaryen. I think it is what I have wanted from the first moment I laid eyes on you.” He held her gave, his eyes boring deep into her very soul. What I’m trying to ask of you, will you marry me?”

She smiled at him, bright and easy. “I see Lord Tarly has been settling an example for you.”

He grew serious. “This has not been something I want just because now there is a child to come. I love you. It was why I took so long in coming to terms with the truth about my parents.”

“We are Targaryen, Jon. My parents were brother and sister, as were many generations before them. In terms of our family, we are rather distantly related really,” she replied wryly. Then she kissed him again. When they came up for air, she gave him her answer. “Yes, I will marry you. That, I think, we should announce. Your sisters and brother, Lord Tyrion and Ser Davos. Let us tell all those we love that there shall be a marriage and a child.” Then she stood, holding out her hand to him. They walked together towards the bed, their clothes falling from them in their wake.


	19. Sansa III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa Stark: counselor, arbiter, wedding planner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Continuing a little clean-out of my documents and doing some long overdue updating. Hope you all enjoy and drop a line if you want!

Sansa had not expected to find Jon at the heart tree. She knew he kept to the Old Gods, but even as a child, he was not a frequent visitor to the godswood. Yet, here was her brother sitting under the red leaves, his sword across his lap, looking for all the world like their father.

That was the lie that had kept him, kept all of them in truth, alive. And it was a sorrow she felt keenly, for the lie that had to be told, for all those hurt by the lie. Chief among them was Jon himself. She knew he had only wanted to know who his mother was, from the time he was a young boy. But it was kept from him for his protection. Who knew what would have happened had the name slipped any of their lips? And her own mother, who wanted the answer as much as Jon had. What would it be like, had she known? Would she have cared for him, loved him?

Would Sansa have loved him?

It still amazed her how quickly Jon had forgiven her of her childhood cruelty. It still made her feel uneasy as if he would erupt at her at some point in the future. But if he did feel any lingering hurt, he kept it to himself. Just as he had any emotional pain he had experienced as a child. 

But as she looked at him now, she saw a different mood in the very way he sat under the weirwood. There was a lightness to him that she had never seen. Something must have happened, Sansa supposed, something good for once in his life.

“Jon?” she asked. He stirred himself out of any musing and looked to her.

“Sister,” he answered, a hint of a smile on his face.

Her nerved eased when she saw that smile. “That is not something you often call me,” she stated. “It’s something you only reserved for Arya.”

“You were always my sister, even when you didn’t want to be,” he said until he fell silent.

“Something has happened.” He smiled once more, his gaze still on the carved face of the weirwood. “Something with the queen?”

 

“Aye, something.” He gestured to a spot in front of him and she sat, arranging her skirt upon the snow. “You know Dan--Daenerys was unwell, right?”

“I was there when we got to her room,” she reminded him. From the look on his face, it was nothing awful.

“Did you know she carried a babe by her first husband?” Sansa had not known that but did not reply, allowing Jon to continue. “She lost it, and was told she would never give birth again.”

Now Sansa was understanding. “I remember Robb and Theon trying to drag you to Wintertown, but you never wanted to go,” she said, letting him know that, indirectly, she understood his meaning. “What changed that you would give yourself to a woman outside of marriage?”

“I still can’t rightly say. But we were drawn to each other, that I know. And when we planned on coming to the North, the Queen decreed that we should sail together, even over the objections of her advisors. I guess I knew then that…”

“You will be marrying, I take it?” Sansa knew that answer, but she still felt obliged to ask.

“Aye, and as soon as possible.”

She nodded her head. “Lord Tarly and Lady Gilly were also planning to wed,” she told him. “You even sent him to me to begin preparations.”

“I know,” he said. “But I spoke with Sam first thing and, well, I thank the gods I have such a friend who would put off his wedding. He did remind me that, at least according to the Free Folk, they are already married.”

Sansa had figured that out. In fact, she had spent the last few days making plans should Jon and the Queen decide to marry. She read the signs, seeing that Daenerys was eating so little, and then the fainting spell only seemed to confirm it. “Well, it will take some doing, but I think it can be done relatively quickly.”

But Jon must have come to know her quite well since they were reunited. “You’ve known this was to happen, didn’t you?”

She smirked but did not answer. “Who else is aware, other than Sam?”

“Just him and Gilly. But there will be a formal announcement later on today,” Jon informed her. 

“So neither Davos nor Tyrion are aware?” When he shook his head, she smiled again. “You do know they had a bet going. Something they placed before you even arrived at Winterfell.” Tyrion had told her about the bet the two Hands had set up. It was more a matter of a when than an if. 

“And who won?” Jon asked.

“Davos. He said it would happen within two moons of your arrival,” she replied. “Though I think Tyrion only hoped it would be longer.” She knew her former husband wasn’t begrudging Jon or Daenerys any happiness, but Tyrion was a keen political thinker. He’d understand how it would look, the King in the North and the Targaryen Queen marrying, and so soon.

“Well, I expect to get a tongue lashing from the both of them,” he said as he began to stand.

Sansa rose to her feet as well. “I have some things to see to in the keep. Why don’t I prepare them for this announcement,” she suggested, unable to keep the smirk off her face.

He nodded, grinning a bit. “I’ll go see to Daenerys then. Best we prepare everyone for this news.”

Like it would be any great shock to their circle. She had heard from Tyrion just how well-known their relationship was on the ship North. And as she ran through the list of people who would need to know, she couldn’t see one of them being surprised.

Once she stepped out of the godswood, she was surprised to see Lord Varys at the gate. “How can I help you, my lord?” she asked. Sansa still held suspicions about the Master of Whispers, but he smiled, benignly.

“I take it his Grace spoke to you?” he asked.

That made her chuckle. “I should have guessed you’d be the first on with the information.”

“Well, I feel I have not lived up to my reputation Seems there were some secrets even I did not hear,” he admitted. “Your Lord Father seemed to win the game in the end.”

“And it only cost him his life,” she reminded Varys. 

“It would have anyway, had the truth been known.” That was a fact that almost made her father’s death even worse. He had gone to the executioner’s block accused of treason and in the end, had, in fact, committed that act. Not as how it was assumed, trying to usurp the power of Joffrey, but that he had harbored someone who would have been seen as the enemy, or at least a threat, to the Baratheon dynasty.

Sansa stopped and turned to the Spider. “And if you had known the truth, Lord Varys, what would you have done?”

“Had I known from the very beginning? Nothing. There was peace in Westeros, the land had been healing from the rebellion. Your father was making no moves that were a threat, and if there is one thing I hold fast to, it is stopping the murder of children.” He glanced at the ground as he continued. “Tywin Lannister murdered two innocent children, and Robert danced on their graves. And had Robert Baratheon known of Jaehaerys, Third of his Name, and that he was born from the love of the Crown Prince and Lady Lyanna…”

Sansa did not need him to finish that thought, “And after? As the years went on and you saw what kind of king Robert was?”

Varys took his time answering. “I truly do not know. Again, Ned Stark did not seek out the crown for Jon Snow, or himself. All he wanted to do was uphold the vow he made to his sister.” He moved closer to her, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I saw him just before…” She closed her eyes, knowing what he was getting at. “Anyway, I saw his lips moving, as if he were saying one last thing. I have always wondered what it was. A prayer to his gods, or a confession that he had kept his promise?”

“I never thanked you for coming to my aid that day,” she said.

“My dear, I wished I could have done more. Gotten you out and back to your family. What you were made to suffer…”

“Made me stronger,” she finished. Wanting to banish those terrible memories, she waved him to follow her. “Come, we have news to convey. I think you may enjoy being there when I tell Lord Tyrion.”

He had a genuine smile on his face as he followed her to the Great Hall. As expected, Tyrion and Davos were sitting there together.

It was Tyrion who noticed them. His lips pursed, most likely at the sight of an amused Varys. “It is never a good thing when he has that look on his face. Should I get myself a drink to numb myself to whatever news it is?”

“Only that if their Graces will need to speak with you soon. I have been sent to convey that message to all who are important to them,” she answered.

Davos clapped his hands together. He had figured it out obviously. “I knew it! I knew it wouldn’t be long!” he gleefully shouted. “Lannisters do still pay their debts, do they not, my lord?”

Instead of looking glum, her former husband was smiling. “If there are two people in the world who deserve this, it is them.”

 

“Then you are not upset at losing?” Varys asked with an eyebrow quirked up.

“I feel it is better now than in the near future. We are at the end of the world, remember?”

Sansa had been told, upon things settling at Winterfell after the Bolton’s had been defeated, that trunks had been found, stored away in a cellar. Most likely it was possessions of her parents, she was told. But with winter finally arrived and possible war on two fronts, she had little time to go search through them. She was the Lady of Winterfell and had more pressing duties than being caught up in the memories of her youth.

But after Jon and Daenerys had informed their councilors that they were to marry, she decided to open them. Some of the stablehands brought up them up to her solar and left as she stared at the two. Both were wood and sadly showed signs of having been left in dank, cold spaces. She had little hope for the contents. But as she peered at the boxes further, she noticed they were both marked with the leaping trout. Mother’s then, she reckoned and she managed to open them up after so long.

There were letters tied up with ribbon, from Ned Stark as he fought from the Trident to Storm’s End. She took a deep breath, wondering about the words written in them. This was from the time when her parents were virtual strangers, married to each other because of the murder of her Grandfather and Uncle Brandon. She recalled her mother speaking little of that time, but Catelyn Stark had taught her that love could grow, even after the wedding day.

Putting them aside, she dove deeper into the first chest. There were a few boxes of jewels. Sansa wasn’t sure if they were a gift from her father or pieces that had been in the Tully family through the generations.

She was looking for something specific but did not find it in the first. She turned her attention to the second, opening it to find dresses and cloaks. Then, as she removed most of them, her eyes fell upon the thing she had been looking for specifically.

A knock at her door was heard and she placed her discovery back inside before closing the lid. She found Ser Davos on the other side. “Ah, Lady Stark, I do apologize for the hour, but I was just wanted to speak with you.”

Sansa smiled at the man and allowed him in. For all of the distrust she had expressed in Jon’s advisor when they had planned to retake Winterfell, he had become something of a kindly uncle to not just her, but also Arya and even Bran since they had met. She did appreciate his blunt way with words, something that was very Northern of a man born in Flea Bottom and Tyrion spoke highly of him, impressed by the man’s loyalty and wisdom. “And it doesn’t hurt that he has pretty much forgiven me for the Battle of the Blackwater,” he former husband added. Ser Davos’ son had been killed with the wildfire-packed boat Tyrion had sent into the harbor, but it seemed that they had come to an understanding that they were then on opposite sides of a war and that those old, adversarial feelings needed to be kept in the past. 

“I have just been speaking with your brother, his betrothed and her Hand. We have been discussing a number of aspects for the wedding itself,” he explained.

“I would guess we would need a maiden cloak for Queen Daenerys,” she replied, and he nodded.

“As to the ceremony, her Grace follows no particular faith. ‘A dragon does not kneel before gods’ were her exact words.” He offered her a smirk and Sansa remembered that Ser Davos, though an anointed knight, was of the same inclination. “Jon told me he was raised primarily with the Old Gods, so they decided to be wed at night, in the godswood and before the heart tree.”

“I figured as much,” she said, sighing. It was one of those facts that drove home that Eddard Stark was not here for such an occasion.

He must have detected her very thoughts. “It is usually the father of the groom who presides of the ceremony, yes?”

She nodded, unable to actually reply. “And if there are no older male relatives available, the honor is usually bestowed upon the head of another house. I’m sure that if we asked Lord Manderly, he would do it, even though he is of the Faith.”

“But there, you still have the complication of letting the other lords know,” he added. “I’m still concerned with their reaction to the idea of their King marrying a Southron queen. Not to mention the fact that he is Rhaegar Targaryen’s trueborn son.”

He was right, of course. It seemed that they kept that secret under wraps, considering how many people were lodged in and around Winterfell currently. She spared a glance at the older man when his expression brightened. “My Lady, who would perform such ceremonies on, say, Bear Island?”

She wasn’t following his line of thought, but answered, “The Lord of House Mormont.”

“And yet, since Ser Jorah had to flee to Essos, there has been no Lord, only Lady Maege and now her daughter, Lady Lyanna. Well, I can’t see there bein’ no weddings amongst House Mormont in all those years, can you?”

Ser Davos had a point. “But how would that apply here?” she asked.

He offered her another smile. “If the late Lady Maege and since her passing, Lady Lyanna, could preside over a marriage, why not the Lady of a Great House?” Sansa sat back, blushing. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “And I know there may be some terrible memories for you. This is something that may drive them away from you, yes?”

For an instant, her mind flashed back to the torchlit path, light snow falling as she was led on Theon’s arm to her groom. It had been because of that that she had hesitated even entering the godswood when the had retaken Winterfell. But after she had seen to the demise of her husband, it had been Jon who had led her back in, telling her of their father’s visits after he was called on to administer the King’s Justice. “Never was there a time that I can remember,” he told her, “that I did not see Father carry Ice here and sit for hours under the heart tree. It was his way of asking the gods’ forgiveness for taking a man’s life.”

As the weeks went on after that, she continued to go there, if for nothing more than quiet contemplation. That was where the idea for giving Jon the crown of the Winter Kings had come to her, after Littlefinger’s admission of his own ambitions.

“You are correct, Ser Davos. It is more usual for a Lord to wed a couple. But there have been Ladies of Northern Houses and they must have been offered such opportunities. I think that will work,” she said. Then she went back to the trunk she had been looking through before he arrived at her door. “And I have found an...heirloom of sorts.” She pulled out a wedding cloak, the direwolf of House Stark embroidered on the back. “This was the cloak worn by my mother when she and Father wed at Riverrun. I think it right that when Jon weds the Queen, this should be what he cloaks her in.”

The Onion Knight must have understood the thought behind giving the cloak to Daenerys. “I think it a fine idea, milady.”

The next morning, Jon requested their fast be broken amongst just family and closest friends. Sansa knew why he was making this request and they all met in Jon’s solar.

“Since we have made the decision to marry, I am guessing there are a number of preparations to make?” he asked, directing the question to Sansa and Daenerys.

“When I married Drogo, I had little idea what was happening. All was done by the man who Viserys and I had been living with,” Daenerys said.

“I’m not even sure who planned our wedding,” Sansa answered. “Tyrion, was it you?”

“Me? Heavens no. I think Father put the whole thing together, as he was the one who wanted the marriage to happen in the first place. I know Cersei had no part in the planning, especially since she was trying to get out of her own betrothal to Loras Tyrell,” Tyrion replied.

Sansa didn’t want to really think about her second marriage so she moved the conversation along. “There are some things that need to be seen to, such as a maiden cloak and dress, but I would like to make an...offer.”

Jon, Daenerys and Arya looked at her expectantly, but Davos smiled, knowing what was to come. “Your Grace, have you been told of the wedding ceremony in the North, for the Old Gods?”

“Very little, My Lady. Just that it was a simple exchange of vows,” Daenerys replied.

Sansa nodded. “Yes, that is true. Traditionally, the groom’s father conducts the ceremony. It takes place at night in the godswood and as you said there are vows exchanged after the bride is led by, usually, her father.”

“That would be a sight to see,” Arya spoke up. “Aerys and Ned Stark in the same place. Or would it be Rhaegar?” Several sets of eyes fell upon her in chastisement, but she seemed oblivious to the looks. 

“Since it is not possible to have your father,” Sansa hurried along, “is there someone else who you could think of bestowing the honor on?”

Daenerys smiled. “I know just who to ask,” she said but seemed to keep the decision to herself.

“As to the ceremony itself,” Jon interjected before anyone else could go further, “I know it is not usual for a woman to perform the marriage but you are the head of House Stark, the Lady of Winterfell. Dany and I would be honored if you are the one to marry us.”

Sansa ducked her head and smiled. “I was just going to ask if I could be the one to perform the ceremony, actually. But since it is you who asked, I would be most pleased to do so.” She got up and embraced both Jon and Dany. “And I will speak with Missandei about getting started on the maiden cloak. But I do want to offer you, your Grace, a gift for your marriage.”

She left the room and returned with the Stark wedding cloak. “This was most likely made for our uncle’s wedding to Catelyn Tully. But, it was eventually used to marry Eddard Stark to the lady. And though they had some points of contention in their marriage, they were happily married for many years and were blessed with many children. I can only hope it blesses yours’ and Jon’s union as well.”

Dany’s eyes widened as she held it. Everyone knew just what Sansa was talking about, but it was also known that no matter what, Jon had never held it against Lady Catelyn. And it was no lie that her parents were happy, eventually. It saddened Sansa to think that those troubled times would have been unnecessary if things had turned out differently.

“I don’t know what else to say, but thank you, Lady Stark. When we made the arrangements to come to Winterfell, I did not know how I would be received, especially as my relationship with your brother was growing. I don’t have the words to express how grateful I am to have been allowed to join your family with such...ease.”

Sansa looked from Jon to the Queen. She knew of the struggles both had gone through in their lives. Both orphaned, unloved by family and pushed into places they did not want o go. But both had emerged stronger than anything.

“I know the life you grew up with was not pleasant. You had little family. But be assured, you have a family now,” Sansa replied, looking back to Arya. The younger Stark daughter nodded her head, giving a small smile of agreement. “And we couldn’t be happier for it.”


	20. Davos II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meetings are held and secrets revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shout-out one more to GreedofRage for his help with this chapter. We are getting closer to the wedding!

Today would be an important day, Davos Seaworth knew, but after the small feast held for Jon and Daenerys’ closest friends, and the accompanying drink, he was concerned with the main topic of the council.  Jon had pulled him aside late and told him they needed to inform the Northern Lords of everything. It weighed on his conscious, hiding the truth about who he was, him being the claimant to the Iron Throne and the truth about him and Daenerys Targaryen.  

 

Davos admired the lad, for sure, but there were times he was a damned fool!  What he knew of Ned Stark had come from Stannis and even a man as bound to honesty and justice as he had been, before the Red Woman had gotten her hands on him, thought Ned Stark a fool at times.  But Stannis had been one of the few who was vocal in his suspicions about Lord Stark’s bastard. He had mentioned it in passing when their forces had marched to the Wall. There was something off, his king had said, that made the man feel Ned was more cunning, and even more honorable than anyone would have suspected.

 

But Jon took after the Ned Stark the world had known.  Always without subterfuge, acting in the best interests of what was right.  It was a path that had led the man to his death. Davos held out hope that the same would not befall the man who had been his son in all but name.

 

For woe to him, that did harm to Jon Snow.  Now, he had a Targaryen and her dragons at his back.

 

When he reached the council chamber, the Onion Knight was surprised to find Tyrion Lannister already there.  For the early hour and the amount of wine and ale the Hand to the Queen had consumed the night before, Davos would have thought it more likely the man would be bringing up the rear of those who were asked to join the King and Queen.

 

When Davos greeted him and commented about that point, after some grumbling, Tyrion replied, “I’ve known this day was coming from the moment Bran Stark told us the truth about Jon.  I’m amazed it’s taken him this long to finally break down and tell the truth.”

 

“The Northern Lords will not like it,” Davos stated.

 

“But which will they take more offense to?  The fact that he bent the knee in more ways than one, or that he’s not Ned Stark’s bastard?” Tyrion mused aloud.  “That was the whole reason he was given the crown in the first place, correct?”

 

“Aye.  Lady Mormont’s words were, ‘We know no King but the King in the North whose name is Stark.  I don’t care if he’s a bastard, Ned Stark’s blood runs through his veins’. They were, in fact, her exact words,” Davos recounted.  That gave him a thought. “Perhaps it would be best if we spoke first with those lords we know to have the complete support of.”

 

“It may be a good idea, and House Mormont, besides being such a vocal supporter, also has Ser Jorah as well.  It’s amazing what freeing thousands of people from slavery can do for the reputation of a man sentenced to death for enslavement,” Tyrion noted wryly.  “Anyone else who may hear us out?”

 

Davos thought for a moment.  He still didn’t know all the Northern Lords very well, but of those he thought of, there weren’t many that came to mind.  “From the North, the Alys Karstark and Ned Umber would likely not raise a fuss. It’s because of the King that they still have their keeps.  But, beyond three youngsters, I can’t see many of your other bannermen liking the decision. You may get the ear of Edmure Tully. Being that he’s Lady Sansa and Arya’s uncle could convince him.”

 

“But he’s also Catelyn Stark’s brother.  A woman who went to her grave still believing the lie.  I can’t think he’d be enthusiastic in his support,” Tyrion answered as the room began to fill.  Varys and Missandei, Sansa, Arya and Bran, Jorah and Grey Worm, and lastly Jaime Lannister arrived ahead of the King and Queen themselves.  Once they were all gathered, Jon stood.

 

“I have spoken with Ser Davos about this last evening and Daenerys as well.  We’ve been less than honest with the lords pledged to the North, The Vale and Riverlands now present...about a number of things,” he began as he looked at everyone.  “But if Daenerys and I are to marry, I cannot do so without telling my banners the truth...the whole truth.”

 

“Your Grace,” Davos stood and addressed him.  “Lord Tyrion and I were just discussing that matter before you all arrived.  There are still pockets of uncertainty amongst your lords. But there are some who would have your support without question.”  Now he looked to Jorah. “I am sure your cousin told you of the oath she swore to House Stark on Bear Island, and then again in the Great Hall here.”  The knight nodded. “And that it was she who acclaimed Jon as King in the North. She has stood by us and sworn to never break faith. I’d tell her first.”

 

“You may also want to try Lord Edmure,” Tyrion continued, fixing Sansa with a look.  “He’s riskier, but he is bound by blood to House Stark, if not you personally Jon.”

 

Davos saw Sansa nod in agreement.  “If nothing else, I will make sure our uncle puts up little resistance to the facts.  ‘ _ Family, Duty, Honor _ ’ is their house words, after all.  And now that it is known that Ned Stark kept to the words of his wife’s house, the Tully’s have little point of protest.”

 

“House Reed,” Bran spoke up.  It was highly unusual for him to make any comment, but Davos mentally kicked himself.  Of course, House Reed should be told. Howland Reed was the only man left who bore witness to the truth.

 

He jumped on that quickly.  “Lord Bran is right and there is also the fact that he can recount what happened,” the Hand to the King said.

 

“It may be a good idea if we showed he had support for Jon, and our marriage, from outside the North and Riverlands,” Daenerys said.  

 

“You’ll have the Lannister’s support,” Jaime interject, though he noted sourly, “little that it may be.  I may be of better use in rehabilitating Prince Rhaegar’s reputation than everything.”

 

The Queen smiled as she did when she was placating the other party.  “And I thank you, but I was thinking of another kingdom. House Baratheon?  They are all gone now?” The queen looked to Ser Davos.

 

His eyes were glassy, as they did whenever he was remembering the young Princess he had told their party about as they sailed for White Harbor.  But he had to banish those memories as he went on. “Lord Renly had no heirs, and Robert no trueborn,” the older man concurred. He left off Stannis’ line and no one questioned it.

 

“Robert Baratheon left no trueborn heirs,” Daenerys repeated.  “But he did leave bastards.”

 

Tyrion sighed at that.  “Sadly, most of them were killed shortly after their father, courtesy of Joffrey, First of His Name.  From the few of highborn ladies to the ones gotten of whores.”

 

“But not all of them, my Lord.”  Her Grace raised an eyebrow to her hand.  

 

“In fact,” Lord Varys offered, breaking his silence, “there is a lad here of Baratheon blood.  And it was a line begun with a bastard. I think it quite fitting if it were continued by one.”

 

Now it was Arya who smiled.  “Gendry followed Jon beyond the Wall on nothing more than the belief that he was Father’s son.  He will support Jon knowing who he is,” the young woman said.

 

“But as much as we will need the support of these lords,” Jorah pointed out, “Northerners by nature are stubborn.  They may see His Grace as the product of a vicious crime. And with the truth being what it is, they may resent Jon as the reason banners were needlessly called those many years ago.”

 

“The Rebellion didn’t happen because Lyanna Stark was presumed to have been kidnapped,” Jaime told them.  “It wasn’t even called when Lord Rickard And Brandon Stark were killed. Jon Arryn only called the banners when Aerys demanded the Lord of the Eyrie hand over Ned and Robert.”

 

“And there were many from the North who questioned the fact of the kidnapping,” Bran said.  “The Lords knew Lyanna Stark and could not see her being taken against her will. Yet after the rebellion, that is what the king called it, and no one dared to question.”  He spoke with a sureness that must have come from seeing through time, or whatever it was he did.

 

Now it was Jon’s turn to speak.  “I think Lord Tyrion and Ser Davos have a good plan.  We best see where we stand with the others in the light of the truth.  Only then can we gauge how to proceed.” He looked to Davos. “It has been recognized the part you played in bringing the young Lady to our side in our hour of need.  Would you seek her out and ask she come to see me and the Queen?” He nodded with a small smile on his face. 

 

Ser Davos stood immediately with a smile, the order given.  He had seen Lady Mormont in the training yard on his way to the Great Hall, so he hoped she was still there.  He was pleased to see that was the case. “My Lady,” he called from the fence. Lyanna held her hand out to her master-at-arms, ending the session, and walked toward him.  “I beg some of your time if it is possible? There is a matter I wish to talk with you about on the King’s behalf.”

 

“Of course, Ser Davos,” she said, her lips set in a narrow line on her face.

 

“I think it best we talk in the godwood,” he replied and, with a silent agreement, followed him there.  When they went in, he got down to business immediately. “My Lady, you were named for Lady Lyanna Stark, is that correct?” he asked, thinking of the best way to couch the discussion.

 

“Yes, as Lady Sansa said when you came to Bear Island,” she confirmed, a slight look of confusion on her face.

 

“Did your mother ever talk to you about her?  The Lady Lyanna? I admit to knowing little about her, save for the tale of what befell her,” he explained.

 

A look of distaste appeared on her face and quickly left.  “That she was kidnapped and raped?” When he nodded, she went on.  “She knew the lady, fostered for a short time here at Winterfell. They were friends, and very much alike.”  They continued to walk beside each other as she went on. “Mother said it was because she was trained that Lord Stark allowed the same for his daughter while Mother was here.  And after she left, my mother stayed in touch with Lady Lyanna, up until she...was taken.”

 

The young Lady’s word intrigued him.  It fit with something Lord Bran had said during their meeting.  “I take it your mother didn’t believe there had been a kidnapping?”

 

She shook her head vehemently.  “Mother told me that Lyanna had told her about what had happened at Harrenhal.  She rode on the lists and defeated the three honorless knights. That was why Prince Rhaegar crowned her.  He had discovered what she had done, and that was why he honored her by naming her the Queen of Love and Beauty.  And that was why I was named for her.”

 

Davos nodded, putting the information together in his head when the girl continued.  “When word reached her that Lady Lyanna had been taken, Mother said she and her brother had a good laugh.  They could not think of anyone who would have been able to catch Lyanna Stark when she was on horseback. Not even members of the Kingsguard.  My mother didn’t know, but she thought it more likely she would have run off with the Prince, even if there was no honor to it, being that he was married.”

 

He smiled.  The Starks and their honor.  “Lady Mormont, there is something that has been learned very recently and I think you should hear it from his Grace.”  He waved his arm towards the gate and they set off together to the council room.

 

When they arrived, Jon was sitting there with Tyrion and Jaime Lannister.  The Hand to the King knew the lad had been wanting to talk to the knight about Rhaegar but was ill at ease to actually do it.  But, since the matter was going to come to a head very soon, he must have thought it a good idea to have the elder Lannister there with him, with the younger brother looking on in interest as if a maester recording history.

 

When they were joined by Lady Sansa, Lady Arya and Lord Edmure Tully, Jon and Jaime ended their conversation and turned to the Riverlands lord and the Lady of Bear Island.

 

“I thank the both of you for coming, and I wish to apologize before anything is said.  The truth is, since I have returned to Winterfell, there is something that has been learned and was kept in the confidence of those closest to us,” the King began.

 

“And the Kingslayer is one of those ‘closest’ to you?” Edmure asked snidely.  But a look from Lady Sansa stopped him from saying anything further.

 

“Ser Jaime was there when this secret was revealed.  And, he does have a tie to it,” Jon said before turning his full attention to Lord Tully.  “Lord Edmure, I know that growing up here at Winterfell as Lord Stark’s bastard was something your sister never accepted and that is was a stain on your family’s honor.  Please know that I never wished to cause any pain to Lady Catelyn and it now saddens me that she is not here to learn something...she always begged Lord Stark to answer.”

 

“I think it is well known around the realm that Ned and I...had our difference,” Jaime began.  “And I always thought we had each done harm to our family’s names in some way. Me with Aerys, and Ned with his bastard.”  

 

“But the truth that has been revealed is, I am not Ned Stark’s bastard.  I am not even his son,” Jon stated. Davos saw Edmure’s mouth fall open as Jon went on.  “The truth is that, when Ned Stark found his sister, she was dying, but it was” he closed his eyes at this, “in childbed.”

 

“Wha-what?” the other man stuttered.  Davos looked over to Lady Mormont, who made no reaction.  “Ned told my sister that you were gotten on some woman during the rebellion!  What do you mean by this?”

 

“Ned Stark lied, to protect the son his sister had given birth to,” Tyrion said.  “A babe who, from his first breath, was the rightful Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.”  His eyes slid to Jon.

 

“Lyanna Stark was not kidnapped or raped by Rhaegar Targaryen, my Lord.  They had met at Harrenhal and sometime after that, fell in love,” Jon finished.

 

“He had his marriage to Elia Martell annulled and married Lady Lyanna.  And the child she gave birth to,” Davos said, his eyes staring at Jon, “sits before you now.”

 

All was silent for a moment, until Lady Mormont recited, “‘We know no King but the King in the North whose name is Stark’.  I would have never guessed that king would be the heir to the Iron Throne.” Then she gave a brilliant smile to those gathered.  “I am pleased to learn that my mother’s belief was correct.” Then she bent the knee.

 

Davos turned his attention to Lord Tully, who was still in shock over the announcement.  “If this is the truth, then why did Ned lead my sister, my house, to believe he had a bastard?”  he asked dumbly.

 

Before Davos could give a dignified answer, Jaime jumped in, all Lannister arrogance on display.  “Yes, Edmure. Ned should have thought to tell your family. And surely, your father would have told his lords, who would have begun to spread the word around Westeros.”  He sneered openly at the thought. “Had that happened, Lyanna Stark’s son would not have lived to see his first nameday.”

 

Davos stepped in.  “His sister swore Eddard Stark to a vow, to protect her son.  She knew that, had King Robert learned that she had not only run off with Rhaegar but married him and had his child, he would have sent assassins after the boy,” he explained.  

 

“Or my father would have seen to it himself, and wiped out all of House Stark for treason, in protecting the son of the enemy, and to ensure his grandson sat on the Iron Throne,” Tyrion added. 

 

“I wish it had not been this way,” Jon said, averting his gaze from Tully.  “I wish it would have been possible to tell Lady Catelyn the truth of who I was, but Lord Stark knew there was too much risk of that information getting out.  I begged him, to the last moment I saw him, to tell me the truth. And I heard her beg the same of him.”

 

“The question we have for you now, Uncle, is will you support Jon in his claim to the Iron Throne?” Sansa asked.

 

Tully swung his head to look at his niece.  “Will the Dragon Queen allow Jon to take the throne?  I don’t see that happening. More like he’ll be burned alive by her dragons,” he replied with a snort.

 

“Not if they’re married,” Jaime muttered loud enough to be heard.

 

Edmure’s glare was directed back at Jon with that comment.  “She is your aunt,” he told the King. But before there was an answer to that, “but that is rather in keeping with the Targaryens.”  Then he looked back to Sansa. “You are in agreement? For him to take the Iron Throne with his...wife?”

 

Blue eyes met blue eyes.  “Jon...has lived a life that was devoid of the privilege one would expect to see for a king.  I have seen how a prince’s rearing can corrupt the boy who is the heir.” Then she looked to Jon, a soft smile on her face.  “Jon may not be Ned Stark’s son by blood, but he was raised with the lessons our father taught him. I know he and Daenerys will be the finest rulers Westeros has seen since Jaehaerys and Alysanne.”

The Lord of the Riverlands did not look pleased with his niece’s answer but did not argue the point.  “I hope that wherever my sister is, she is not angry with my decision.” Then he got up from his chair and knelt before Jon.  “The Riverlands will support you when you seek to recapture the Iron Throne.” Then he abruptly stood and left the room.

 

Everyone let out a breath.  “That was easier than I thought,” Davos comment.

 

“Edmure Tully may be a fool, but he does learn,” Jaime said.  “He knows the price to be paid if he did not back you.”

 

“And he probably also remembers that the Tullys only have their position because of your ancestor Aegon the Conqueror,” Tyrion added as if he were a maester teaching a history lesson.

 

Jon nodded absently as he looked to Lady Mormont.  The young woman had a rather pleased look on her face.  “I do apologize to you for not coming forward sooner. I did not handle this information well at first.”

 

“I can understand, your Grace.  And I must say, my mother truly did honor me in naming me after your mother,” Lyanna said proudly.  “And she would be proud to know she had not been wrong in not believing the lie about Lyanna Stark’s taking.”  With nothing more to say, she too left the solar.

 

Davos couldn’t help but smile.  “I think, your Grace, that should there be any objections tomorrow, that little lady will put them all in their place, again,” he commented.  

 

“Again?”  Tyrion sounded concerned.  “What do you mean by that, Ser Davos?”

 

The Onion Knight let out a laugh.  “Well, it is quite a story, my friend.  I think it best to be heard over a few cups of ale.”  And with that, he patted the other Hand on the shoulder as he began his tale.  “Well, the first time Lord Snow and Lady Sansa had to deal with her, she bared her claws at them and it was your’s truly that got through to her, I am proud to say…” he said with a chuckle as he wove his tale.


End file.
